Walking Nightmares
by Lawi01
Summary: Jack Overland's life is slightly less than average, but between looking after his sister and keeping up with his mom's flighty job he doesn't have much time to dwell on it. When he discovers a dark, haunted cavern beneath their house, his every perception of average is flipped upside down and he learns the hard way that the Boogeyman is much more than a myth. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Long time, no see, huh? I've had a massive writing block for like **_**everything **_**and seem to have a bit of a creative breakdown **_**but **_**I did finally see **_**Rise of the Guardians **_**last month and **_**ohmygOD GREATEST MOVIE EVER?! **_**So yeah I came up with a little AU I thought would be fun to write, and I've actually got the whole core story plotted out in my head this time :O This chapter is quite boring to start with, just setting the scene… It'll get interesting I promise D; As ever, enjoy lovely readers! **

**Sadly, I don't own RotG.**

The door of 13 Bentham Street, Burgess, burst open, and a pair of children spilled out. The tall skinny boy with messy brown hair ran down the street, a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder and a little girl tucked under the other. A slice of burnt toast hung out of his mouth; his free hand shoved another slice into the little girl's face, which she tried to eat with little success. Wedged under his other arm were a pair of paper bags, one of them dangerously close to ripping.

They were Jack and Emma Overland, and they were going to be late for school.

"Eat! Eat!" Jack's voice broke with panic as the bus reached the corner of their street.

"But I need to brush my teeth!" Emma wailed. As Jack ran and stumbled, the corner of the toast jabbed her squarely on the nose.

"You can miss it this one time," Jack gasped. "The Tooth Fairy won't kill you, I promise- oh, crap…"

Jack's toast tumbled to the sidewalk, one corner soggy from its brief stay in his mouth. Automatically, he slowed to go and get it; his legs did an awkward dance as his stomach told them to go one way and his brain told them to go the other. Emma clung on for dear life and her eyes popped out of her head when a chunk of burnt toast constricted her windpipe as Jack managed to swing himself back around and continue towards the bus.

"Ah! It's slowing!" The bus drew to the slow, lumbering stop that buses usually do when they come to an intersection. At that moment the bus driver turned and happened to catch sight of them- the tall boy, his face bright red, and the little girl carelessly slung under one arm, gagging and choking to little avail.

Whether it was compassion or alarm that fuelled the driver's next actions, Jack would never know: but for the moment he contented himself with the knowledge that for whatever reason the driver slammed the brakes on and brought the bus to a lurching stop, opening the doors with a pneumatic hiss to let the Overland siblings tumble in.

The bus driver regarded them questioningly. "Somebody sleep in?"

"Jack did," Emma replied hoarsely, as the Jack in question pat her back gently until the toast was dislodged. "_I_ got up and made my own _bed _and got dressed by my_self _and-"

"I made breakfast," Jack reminded her grudgingly, leading her to a seat. The bus driver really didn't care whether or not they'd slept in.

"Yeah, and I nearly _died_," Emma pointed out. "You make terrible toast."

"Excuse you!" Jack cried in mock offence. "What's wrong with my toast?"

Emma numbered them off on her fingers. "You burnt it, you didn't butter it, you shoved it in my _face_-"

"He-ey, Jamie." Jack clapped a hand over his sister's motormouth as they threw themselves down on the seat in front of Jamie and Sophie Bennet, the only friends they'd managed to make in their first three months of living in Burgess.

"That was some entrance," Jamie grinned. "It's not like you to be late, Jack."

This wasn't specifically true. It was more like Jack to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted- if it were up to _him _he wouldn't go to school at all. But because he had Emma to look after, and because their mother was trying hard for them, he got up religiously early and made sure his little sister was ready for the day. That was all there was to it, really: looking after Emma.

Even if she was ungrateful when it came to Jack's breakfasts.

Something wet and squishy ran across Jack's palm and he cried out, pulling his slobbery hand away from Emma's mouth. Jamie snorted and Sophie clapped her hands in amusement; she didn't tend to talk much.

"Aw, Emma!" Jack wiped his hand off on the seat. "That's _disgusting_."

"Jack slept in," Emma informed the two grinning Bennets, ignoring her brother as she bounced eagerly up and down on her seat. "And I had to get up by myself and make my _bed _and get _dressed_-"

"How many people are you going to tell that to before it gets old?" Jack grumbled, still annoyed that she had licked his hand (even though he'd done the same thousands of times before).

"Just Sophie," she shrugged. "No-one else to tell."

Sometimes Jack felt bad that Emma didn't have many friends- she was a perfectly likeable kid, and she used to make friends wherever she went, but they moved around so often that Jack guessed she just got sick of goodbyes. She seemed content with Jack, anyway- all she really needed to keep her company was her family and the Bennets.

Speaking of which.

"What's the book today, dork?" Jack asked, craning his neck over the back of the seat to look onto Jamie's lap. As per usual, some fat novel or book about the great unknown was open, and as per usual Jamie's eyes lit up when he talked about it.

"Oh, man, it's _awesome_," he gushed, leafing through the pages eagerly. "It's about ghosts and all these haunted buildings and stuff- some of these places are messed up, I'm telling you…"

Jack smirked and shook his head as Jamie rambled on. Jamie was two years Jack's senior, but Jack couldn't help feeling that he hadn't grown up much since he was ten. Jamie was the biggest fantasy nut Jack had ever met, and what was even funnier was that he took the entire thing as gospel. Jack couldn't remember meeting anyone being so obsessed with bedtime stories before.

Emma elbowed him in the ribs, and he looked down to see her holding up the remnants of her charred toast, eyes big and serious.

"You dropped yours," was all she said.

Jack accepted gratefully- his stomach was growling like a dying whale- and crunched down. Emma was right: his toast was terrible, but she didn't need to know that. He forced himself to swallow and, miraculously, managed not to choke.

"Maybe you can tell me if our place is haunted," Jack interrupted Jamie mid-rant; the younger boy looked up eagerly. "Weird stuff, you know."

"Like what?" Jamie asked, shuffling forward in his seat.

Jack shook his head, regretting having said anything in the first place. He'd never get Jamie to shut up now. "Weird stuff," he repeated vaguely. "Shadows where they shouldn't be. It's always freezing at night. And…" He stopped himself. There wasn't any point in telling Jamie _why _he had slept in. It was nothing to worry about, and it wasn't like it hadn't happened before.

Everyone got nightmares, right?

"And what?" Jamie prompted.

Jack shrugged and looked away. He was just kidding, anyway. There was nothing wrong with the house. "And nothing. There's probably just something wrong with the heating."

Jamie studied his friend's face carefully, suspiciously. It was there, Jack knew it was. Right on the tip of his tongue. A theory, a myth, an impossibility. He reached over and cuffed Jamie's shoulder playfully.

"Come on, man. Don't take these things so seriously."

"Jack!" Emma, tugging on the sleeve of Jack's hoodie. "Jack, I'm getting off now."

Why eight year olds felt the need to inform everyone of their every single move Jack would never know, but he would comment on it to Jamie later. "Don't die," he advised her as she and Sophie trotted off down the aisle.

"Without your toast?" Emma laughed. "Not a chance."

Jack poked his tongue out at her but waited until the doors hissed shut behind Emma before turning to Jamie.

"Want some toast?"


	2. Chapter 2

Mary Overland picked her children up from Emma's primary school that afternoon. Her job meant that it was impossible for her to get both kids to school on time without being late for work herself, but every so often she would be able to get off early enough to bring them home again.

Emma dragged Jack across the parking lot to their mom's car, where she waited with an amused grin and open arms. "Did we have a good day?" she asked, squeezing Emma tight.

"Jack slept in," Emma replied automatically; Jack rolled his eyes. Still wasn't old, apparently.

Mary gasped and her eyebrows shot up. "It's the end of the world!"

"I _know!_" Emma exclaimed, relieved to find someone who understood. "I had to-"

"Wake up on your _own_ and make your bed by your_self _and get _dressed_-" Jack mimicked, falling tragically against the car door with a melodramatic sigh.

Emma poked her tongue out at him viciously and clambered into the passenger seat; Jack wrapped his hands around her torso and pulled her out again just as quickly. "I don't _think _so," he grinned, fastening her into the back seat. She poked her tongue out at him again; he tapped her nose in response and all was forgiven.

"Why the sleepy head?" Mary asked distractedly, glancing up and down the street before pulling out of the car park.

Jack bit his tongue. They didn't need any reason to worry about him. Besides, he was fine. There was nothing wrong. "Cold," he replied finally, remembering his excuse to Jamie earlier that morning. "I think the heating's busted in my room, or something."

"Mm," Mary murmured. "That's no good. We'll get it fixed before winter sets in."

Jack nodded, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. The long and short of it was, between rent, school and the general costs of living, they didn't have the money to fix a hiccup in the heating. It was just one room, right? And Jack was eighteen. He could get by with a few extra layers at night, or if worse came to worse crash on the couch.

Not to mention that the real problem had nothing to do with heating.

/|\

"…And that's how division works."

Emma sat back in her chair, folding her arms and staring at the apple segments before her thoughtfully. "How come everyone else can't just get their own apples?"

"Sharing is caring," Jack said absently, looking out the window. "So now that we've gotten homework and life lessons out of the way, wanna have some fun?"

"_Yay!_" Emma slid off her chair and took off across the lounge room to the front door; the pitter-patter of little feet brought Mary's head up from the laptop.

"Where's she going?" she asked Jack, who was loping after his sister and chewing on a fat slice of apple.

"We've done her homework," Jack assured her. "We're just gonna go out. Explore or whatever. I'll stay with her."

Mary smiled gratefully at Jack. "Thanks, Jack. Don't forget you've got an assignment waiting for when you get home."

"Lucky me," Jack said drily, stepping out into the late autumn afternoon and pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. His mom was right: winter was coming on fast. Emma would need extra blankets.

Speaking of which.

Where was the little kid?

Jack's eyes swept their street up and down, but there was no sign of Emma. He wasn't overly worried. They played hide-and-seek all the time, even though Emma had spent most of her eight years thinking it was called hide-and-scare because Jack used to get so bored waiting for her to find him that he would jump out and attack her when she wandered close.

It was a fun game, and Jack was ready to play.

"Emma?" he sang out softly, stalking down the driveway and trying not to grin, lest he look like some stalker creep to all the neighbours. "Emma…"

There was nowhere to hide on the front lawn, unless Emma had miraculously turned into the postbox: he moved to the backyard. It wasn't anything special, more or less the same as any other backyard. A small table was set up on the porch for warm summer dinners and a sad windchime dangled from the rafters. Rows of bushes lined the inside of the fence, but there was nothing big enough for an eight-year old to hide behind.

_Now _he was starting to get worried. "Emma?" he called, leaving all pretense of a game behind. "Emma, where are you?"

"Jack! Jack, I'm down here!"

Jack whirled around at the sound of her voice, far away and muffled. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled along the porch, looking for any sign of his baby sister.

"Jack? Jack, are you still there?"

Her voice called to him in light-hearted sing-song, so she wasn't afraid. She wasn't in any obvious danger… Which only begged the question of what _un_obvious dangers she could be in.

"Emma, come here! Where are you?"

"H- Down here! Come on, I want you to see this!"

Already imagining the trouble his mom would get him in to if Emma got hurt, Jack ventured around the side of the house. A tiny door in the wall was thrown open, and Emma's voice drifted out to him from the blackness.

Jack skidded on his knees to the mouth of the passage. "Emma! Emma, get out of there right _now_."

Her face appeared almost immediately: he'd expected her to be further down. Her little hands and knees were scraped and dirty and dirt was smudged along her cheekbone.

"But there's something down there!" she explained. "I wanted to check it out."

This gave Jack pause. "Something like what?"

Emma shrugged. "I dunno, I just had a _feeling_."

"Huh." Jack smiled a slow, cat's smile as the plan formulated itself in his head. "Looks like we're gonna have to investigate."

/|\

"I still don't understand why you get to go down there and I don't," Emma mused, watching Jack tie the rope around his waist.

"Because I'm older," Jack said simply. "More responsible. Whatever."

Emma frowned. "But you could get hurt."

Jack grasped her shoulders and smiled comfortingly. "I won't," he promised. "Now, remember what I told you."

Emma sighed. "If you tug on the rope, I have to pull, and if you tug really really hard I have to call Mom," she recited dutifully.

"Good girl." Jack clapped her shoulder and turned back to the little door. "There's probably nothing there, anyway."

"If there is, you have to show me."

"Deal."

Flicking the torch on with his thumb and shining it in his face to check that it worked- it did- Jack started the awkward three-legged crawl below their house.

He had expected some kind of earthen room, long and low and held up by crumbly brick stacks or whatever it was the people normally had under their houses. Not this. No matter where he shone the torch, he couldn't see: it was a darkness he had never known before. The ground under his hands was rough and gravelly and hurt to crawl on; he wondered what could have possibly motivated Emma to come down here in the first place.

Before he knew it, the tunnel sloped down sharply. He picked his way down carefully, ignoring the tiny voice of common sense that told him how stupid he was being. Jack had learnt how to block out that voice long ago. What fun was life if you didn't have a little adventure in it now and again? This particular venture, he knew, wouldn't throw up anything particularly interesting: they very rarely did. Still, he never liked to pass up an opportunity, just in case.

Besides, he'd promised Emma. He had to have _something _to show for it.

Down and down he went, he wasn't sure for how long: progress was slow with only one arm and two legs. He hit his head on a low, sloping roof several times and glanced back behind him more than once, wondering if he should start turning back. The rope still had a fair bit of length, more than he would have expected, but Emma would worry if he didn't get back soon.

_Just a little further, _he decided. _No-one builds massive tunnels under a house for no reason._

Of course, all of that depended on just how far _a little further _was.

He continued on until he was hit in the face by a gush of cold air. He paused, confused, and crawled on cautiously. Maybe he'd found some old abandoned mine, or a secret underground facility, or maybe even discovered a new species of bat-

"What the-?"

What he _had _found was none of the above- at least, not as far as his imagination could stretch. He had crawled out onto a small ledge jutting out of a wall made of jagged black stone, decorated here and there with sprouts of sharp, wicked-looking black crystal. Dim, grey light filtered in from far-away windows- _but that's impossible, we're hundreds of feet underground_- and bounced off sharp, spidery stalagmites.

Far below, on the ground, the only item of note in the massive cavern was some weird, half-demolished sculpture, flickering with a handful of weak, golden lights. Elsewhere, the ground was littered with jagged rocks and stalactites jutting up from the rocky floor and promising a messy end if he fell.

The longer Jack lingered, the more his unease grew. There was something… _wrong, _with this place, something that made him want to run back to his mother and fling himself into her arms, something that made him want to burrow under the bedsheets and pretend the outside world didn't exist…

He didn't realize he was running until he was back inside the depths of the tunnel. The torch was jammed messily between his teeth, its light bobbing jauntily just ahead of him. All he could think of was that unfamiliar, abject terror, something he hadn't felt in years and had no wish to experience again. Up and up he went, fuelled as much by his fear as he was by his desire to escape it, until…

"Did you see anything? Was there anything down there?" Emma bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet as Jack leapt out, cut and scraped and wild-eyed. He fell back against the door, forcing it shut under his weight and taking a moment to catch his breath and get himself under control.

"Jack?" Emma knew, she knew immediately that something was wrong. There was something in his eyes, something she had never seen before… "Jack, are you OK?"

"Fine," Jack said suddenly, sitting straight. "I'm fine. It's- there's nothing down there, Em. Just a bunch of old bricks and dirt and stuff."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "Can I have a look?"

"No!" Jack's voice was unusually sharp; she shied away. "No," he said again, more gently this time. "It's… You know, it's gross and dirty and old and you could get hurt or sick or something."

Emma looked at her feet uncomfortably. She knew Jack well enough to know when he was hiding something from her, but she also knew that whenever it came to an argument between them he always won out.

"Emma, look at me." She obeyed, and their identical eyes locked. "Promise me you won't go down there. _Promise._"

Jack held out a crooked pinkie, and after a moment's hesitation she wrapped her own little finger around it and squeezed.

"Promise."

Jack was only looking out for her, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night. Ordinarily that would mean watching a movie, or keeping Jamie awake as long as possible by sending pointless texts, or maybe even setting up some kind of late night-early morning prank for Emma, if he really felt like it. But after everything that had happened that day, Jack just wanted to go to sleep.

Or, at least, that's what his body told him.

The fact was, Jack couldn't bring himself to sleep. Hours later, his mind still raced with what he had seen and he didn't want to close his eyes and let his consciousness fade away, let his imagination run wild. What would happen to him? What would the world do while he wasn't watching? Thoughts like that made him uncomfortable. He hadn't been scared of something so stupid in years, but that was just it: he was scared. And that, in turn, was starting to piss him off.

Besides, he couldn't just stay awake forever. It hadn't even been a problem until tonight- he'd been sleeping rough ever since they moved to Burgess, but last night had been the first time that the nightmares actually… well, _scared _him. Until now, they had been uncomfortable at best, forbidding mirages in his head that left him with a heavy sense of dread and foreboding in his stomach. But last night… It was like he couldn't wake up, hence the sleeping in, hence the mad morning dash to get to school on time. School provided a welcome distraction, but now he was back at home and it was dark and he was afraid of his own _bed_.

He had to get over himself eventually- it was a phase, and it would move on, and even if it didn't he had Emma to think of. She relied on him to be fearless, and he couldn't just leave her on her own like he had that morning. As annoying as it got after the third of fourth hearing, Emma's story _did _have a point: she'd had to get up, and make her bed by herself, and get dressed. It was great that she was learning, but Jack should have been there to help her.

Almost as if he'd summoned her, Jack heard his mother's feet padding down the corridor. He wondered if she was using that weird mom-telekinesis thing, where she just instinctively knew when something was wrong with one of her children, but it turned out she was just saying goodnight to Emma.

Sitting at his desk by the door- he was using his neglected assignment as an excuse for not sleeping, which was a first- Jack craned his neck to listen in.

"H- What's up, honey?"

"Nothing." Emma's voice, muffled and scared. Something was most certainly up.

"Aw, come on." Jack could practically see it in his head: his mom sat down on the end of the bed, where Emma was curled up into a little ball under the covers. "I'll tickle it out of you."

Silence from Emma. Then, with a roar, Mary pounced, and there was the squeal and thrash of little legs as Emma struggled against her mother, giggling and pretending not to be at the same time.

Sometimes even Jack forgot just what a mom his mom was.

Eventually, Emma escaped and crawled back to her pillows.

"Come on. What's up?"

Emma sighed uncomfortably. "It's Jack," she said after a while, and Jack almost fell into the corridor (he was, by now, listening with his ear pressed to his doorframe). "He… I dunno, he's been acting funny today and he seemed really _scared _after-" Emma cut off abruptly.

"After what?"

For a moment, Jack was terrified that Emma would spill the beans and get them both into bucketloads of trouble, but he needn't have doubted her. She knew when to keep her mouth shut. "Nothing," she mumbled. "I'm just scared for him, and…"

"And…?" By now Mary would have cuddled right up to Emma, holding her in that all-encompassing embrace Jack was too old for now. "You can tell me."

"And kids were telling scary stories today," Emma mumbled. "I'm scared the Boogeyman's gonna come."

"Oh, Emma!" There was a tinkle of relief there, in a mother having discovered that there was nothing seriously wrong with her child. "Don't be silly. There's no such thing as the Boogeyman."

Emma stayed doubtfully silent.

"_Trust _me. If there was, I'd know about it. Look." Sliding off the bed, Mary would have pressed her ear to the ground and done a thorough search under the bed until Emma was satisfied. "See? Nothing there. You're safe, baby. We'll make sure you're safe, always."

"Thanks, Mom." A tight embrace; a peck on the forehead; an affectionate goodnight, and she was gone. Jack barely managed to scramble back to his desk before his mom entered, looking surprised at this unusual use of her son's time.

"Homework? On a Friday night?"

Jack looked at his mother in mock horror. "I must be growing up! Mommy, make it stop!"

He flung himself at her, and she smirked, ruffling his hair playfully. "God forbid the day my baby boy grows up," she replied, grabbing him by the face and pressing her lips hard against his forehead until he gave in, laughing and pulling away from her.

"Is everything OK with Emma?" he asked innocently.

She fixed him with a suspicious look, but let it slide. "Fine. Thanks for looking after her, you… Well. Don't take this the wrong way, but you're doing a better job than I would've thought."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Gee, Mom. Thanks for the vote of confidence there."

"No, really." She grasped him by his shoulders, suddenly serious. "You've been… You've been so great, since your dad and I split up, and I can't thank you enough for that. Truly."

Jack just shrugged. "Someone's got to be the man of the house," he said, semi-jokingly.

His mom pulled him in and hugged him tightly; he squeezed her back. "I'm glad it got to be you," she whispered, her breath rustling his hair. "Goodnight, Jack."

"'Night, Mom."

The door clicked shut, and Jack was alone again.

He threw his feet up on the desk and tossed a Rubix cube from hand to hand. _Boogeyman, huh? _It was ironic, Jack thought, that there was some kind of haunted cave under their house and now Emma was afraid of monsters under the bed.

He'd never had anyone to tell _him _that the Boogeyman wasn't real. He didn't like to think about his father much, but when he did the memories were almost always bitter. His dad had been an intimidating figure in his childhood, a big man with bigger expectations of his only son. How was Jack supposed to tell him he was scared of the dark? There was just no way. It was only after Emma was born, after his parents' divorce, that he learnt how to fight his fears off on his own. Or, rather, how to protect Emma. Being a role model did things to you, things he still couldn't quite explain: all he knew was that he couldn't be afraid, and as he taught Emma about the world he began to see that childish fears were just that: childish. And so he'd been a solid sleeper for years… Until now.

Frustrated with these thoughts, Jack turned back to his assignment, and stared at it for another two solid hours before the words started swimming before his eyes and he had to stop. With dragging feet, he trudged over to bed and hesitantly lay down. Almost as soon as he drew the covers up over himself he felt the temperature in the room plummet by at least ten degrees.

_Just heating, _he told himself firmly, burrowing down and squeezing his eyes shut against the cold. _Just heating._

It was weird, he thought as he drifted off to dreaded sleep, how he had been nightmare free for so long only to be swept away by some freak endemic years later.

/|\

_He'd ruined it again. He didn't know what, he didn't know how, just that he _did_. He was five years old, and he'd stuffed up, and he was scared. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to _do? _'Sorry' never worked. 'I'll do better next time' wasn't good enough. Tears poured down his face like twin waterfalls._

_And then there was screaming- he was towering over him, yelling, and she begged him to please stop and be quiet and what about the baby? And then he yelled at her, and the baby started screaming too, and it was all too much and all he knew was that it was _his fault_, if he had just been a little more careful he could have stopped this and-_

_Shadows poured in from all directions, crashing over him and rising up, up, up. Bitter laughter and sobs echoed around him, and still those eyes. _

_Two yellow eyes, watching him collapse in the chaos._

/|\

Jack woke with a start, gasping and thrashing blindly about his bedsheets. For a long, horrible moment, he had no idea where he was: but as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in, he recognized the shape of his desk and bed and he remembered. He was Jack Overland, and he was at home, and he'd just had a nightmare.

A bad one.

Rubbing his face wearily, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. A chilly autumn breeze swept in through his windows- had he left them open?- and ruffled his hair in its passing. The nightmare remained fresh in his memory- which was a shame, considering how many other dreams he had so easily managed to forget- and here, in the light of day, he could tell himself that it wasn't really that scary. Just a childish dream…

He'd heard, once, that you dreamed about the last thing you thought about before you went to sleep. He'd been thinking about his dad before he went to bed, right? So it stood to reason that his nightmare would be about his dad, and the lead-up to his parents divorce. There. That was all there was to it. Simple psychology.

Slowly lifting his head from his hands, Jack looked around his room until he found it: the family photo in its battered frame on his desk. Gingerly, he picked it up and studied it with distant eyes.

He had been five, and they had gone for a family picnic. He remembered having a kite, and eating more than his fair share of the food they'd brought along, and he remembered seeing his mom laugh. He remembered that because she didn't tend to smile much after that, not that he could remember. After his dad left them, Jack had messily cut him out of the photograph- ten-year-old anger had made his little hands shaky- and after Emma's birth had stuck her baby photo on over the top. It was a ramshackle job, he knew that, but he'd kept it anyway.

Now, eight years later, he ran his fingers over the jagged cut where his father had once been. It was just a coincidence, right? He had been angry at his dad when he left, and he had been angry at his dad last night, and that had all just translated into his dreams.

Still… He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Of those yellow eyes, now almost familiar to him. For all that his previous nightmares had been blurry, unintelligible blurs, the only constant in every single one of them was the petrifying clarity of the two yellow eyes that watched him from the blackness, completely devoid of emotion.

Until the very end, just before Jack woke up, when a deep dark laugh would ring out, and he knew without a doubt that whoever owned those eyes owned that laugh, too.

His phone was in his hands in seconds, and he seemed to know who he was dialing without really even thinking about it. He picked up on the third ring, sleepy and disgruntled.

"Come to the lake in the park," Jack said shortly. "We need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

What was initially meant to be a secret guy's meeting- or whatever you wanted to call it- turned into an all-out Bennet-Overland meet-up. As soon as Jack had told his mom that he was going to meet Jamie by the lake, she had perked at the thought of getting out with her two kids and fellow single mom, and they'd ended up dragging the whole gang along.

Jack watched them approach from beneath his pulled-up hood. The Bennet family situation was eerily similar to that of the Overland's, but it wasn't exactly an unusual situation to start with. Sophie and Emma were in the same grade at school, and it was through them that the two families ever started talking at all, which was just as well because there was no-one else that they knew in Burgess, and Jack didn't want to end up being _that weird loner kid _again.

The moms stood and embraced; they were, as the saying went, _girlfriends_, or whatever it was you called it when two college teachers became best friends. Emma only took a few seconds to tell Sophie what they were going to do- Sophie didn't talk much, and Emma liked being the boss of someone else every now and again- before they took off to the playground, and Jack just pretended not to notice Jamie watching him intently.

"Liz and I are just going to head up to the coffee shop," Jack heard his mother say. "I'll text you when we go, OK?"

"Got it."

Jamie barely managed to bite his tongue until the moms were out of earshot before exploding. "Jack, what-?"

"Come on." Jack motioned with his head at the woods behind them, and started lumbering towards them, hands jammed deep in his pockets. After only a moment's hesitation, Jamie followed.

Jack had found the lake not long after moving to Burgess. He had been out exploring, determined to find something cool to boast about over the table that night. Back then it had still been warm, and if he'd really wanted to he could have gone for a swim, hidden from the public eye by the towering pine trees. Now many of the trees were shedding their leaves and the wind that skimmed off the water was icy, but Jack liked it. It was his own secret little hideout, and the perfect place to be alone with his thoughts- or, in this case, with Jamie.

The younger boy took in the scene with an impressed nod- _how did I not know about this place before?-_ before throwing himself down on a relatively comfortable rock. Still finding it easier to ignore the fact that he was turning to his geeky friend for advice, Jack scooped a rock up from the undergrowth and skipped it across the lake.

"So… Wanna tell me why you brought me here?" Jamie prompted.

Jack threw another stone with considerably more aggression. Jamie prepared himself to run. "You're gonna think I'm crazy," Jack sighed, watching the ripples on the lack's surface distantly. "But I _think _you may actually be onto something with your ghosts and stuff. _Maybe_," he added firmly, when Jamie's face lit up, torn between gloating and exploding with excitement.

He opted for explosion.

"What is it? Is it the house? I didn't even think there was anything haunted _about _this place-" Jamie had shot to his feet, pacing back and forth and running a hand through his hair. In spite of the emotions knotting and rolling in his stomach, Jack had to smile.

_Ladies and gentlemen, _he thought to himself. _The only sixteen year old who still believes in Santa Claus._

"Calm down, Casper," Jack teased. "It's probably nothing, anyway."

"Apparently not," Jamie smirked. "Otherwise you wouldn't have called me."

Jack glared, then took a breath and spilled his guts. Quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. He told him everything: how he'd been having nightmares ever since moving here, and how they'd started getting worse, and about the cavern under the house. He even told him about the eyes, and didn't stop until he was sure he'd mentioned everything, in spite of how stupid it felt to voice it out loud.

As he spoke, Jamie's smirk slowly fell away from his face until he was wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and maybe even a little worried for his friend beneath all the excitement of having a real life ghost in his own city. Finally, Jack turned his head and looked at him, and he was tired: Jamie bit his tongue and decided to save the gloating for later.

"Any ideas?" Jack asked, barely able to hide an undertone of pleading in his voice. The nightmares may only have been small, but Jamie guessed anyone would get sick of them after three whole months. And he could understand why Jack was worried about them getting worse, especially with little Emma just across the hall. He wouldn't have said it, but Jamie knew Jack was freaking out about her internally. He always was.

"Could… could be anything, man," Jamie said lamely. "Has any of your stuff moved around? Doors banging shut, or whatever?"

"Uh… My windows were open this morning," Jack said helpfully, then frowned. "But that might have just been me…"

Jamie tapped his chin, resuming his pacing. Jack hefted another stone in his hand. "Yellow eyes… I dunno about anything like that, but maybe if you find one of those 'dream-decoder' books or whatever, that might have something…"

Jack snorted and threw the stone across the lake. "Because I'm totally going to rock up to the library with _that _little number in mind. Can we keep this as not-weird as possible, please?"

Jamie fixed Jack with a look. "You're asking _me _about your weird nightmares," he pointed out. "It doesn't get much _not-weirder _than that."

Jack pulled a face. "I'm probably just overreacting," he muttered, more to himself than to his friend.

"N- no, man, I think this is worth looking into!" Jamie assured him hurriedly, equal parts comforting his friend and making sure he didn't let an opportunity as golden as this pass him by. "And besides, that cave you found- that's weird, there's no reason that should be there…"

Jack smirked half-heartedly. "Yeah, well. I'll let you know if I find any vampires down there," he replied with no small amount of sarcasm.

Jamie spared a moment to poke his tongue out at Jack's back before continuing with his interrogation. "Emma hasn't mentioned anything weird?"

"Nah. At least, not that she's told me." Again, Jack paused. "She said… She said that she had a _feeling _that there was something down the house, that she just _had _to explore it." He looked to his friend. "Is that weird?"

"We-ell…" Jamie tried to figure out the best way of phrasing it without sending Jack into an over-protective frenzy. "If there _is _something down there- you know, _if_- then maybe it was, like, calling to her, or something…?"

Even to Jamie it sounded stupid.

And Jack knew it, too, because he finally cracked a genuine smile. "You're a proper idiot, Bennet," he told Jamie affectionately.

"Watch it, Overland," Jamie shot back weakly. "Don't come crying to me when you get possessed by the ghost in your basement or whatever."

Jack shook his head and looked away, pretending not to smile. Jamie chewed his lip before deciding to speak.

"I'll look into it, Jack," he promised. "Seriously."

Jack didn't turn his head. "Thanks, Jamie."

At that moment, Jack's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen, but he already knew who it was from. There was only a handful of numbers in his contacts list, and only half of them actually texted him.

_Where'd you go? Leaving soon. Mom xx_

"I'm staying at yours," Jack told Jamie absently as he typed a response, telling his mother that exact thing.

Jamie shrugged. "Sure. Maybe Sophie can stay at yours."

_OK. Sophies sleeping over w/ Emma. _

"Looks like it," Jack agreed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Just promise me there'll be no ghost research while I'm there, OK?"

Jamie laughed. "Promise."

It was easier, he guessed, to pretend your problems didn't exist whenever you could, however you could.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack walked home by himself the next morning, hood pulled up and hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the bitter wind that pushed him down the streets of Burgess. He wondered if his lake would freeze over. That'd be cool. He'd teach Emma how to ice skate.

Staying true to his word, Jamie hadn't made a single mention of ghosts or the paranormal throughout Jack's stay. In fact, he'd done quite the opposite, doing everything he could to make it as normal as possible- and, furthermore, Jack had his first proper night of sleep since moving to Burgess.

But far from rejoicing this apparent cure and making plans to move into the Bennet's house, Jack walked home with a troubled mind. It was great to finally get a lucky break, sure, but what did this imply? If the nightmares didn't follow Jack, then did that mean his house actually _was _haunted? He didn't like entertaining the possibility, and decided he wouldn't mention anything of it to Jamie until he was _certain _that his nightmares were exclusive to his house, but he suspected the younger boy knew anyway. It both annoyed and gratified Jack, just how much Jamie could extract from his head without his ever having to say anything.

When he came home, Emma and Sophie were wrapped up in fat jackets and woolly beanies- as if it were already bucketing with snow- and playing on the front lawn. Considering his current mood, Jack decided to let the two girls be, and instead moved inside to discover his mother taking a rare break on the couch, watching old re-runs of _Friends_.

She turned her head enough to see Jack hurriedly push his hood back from his head. She hated it when he wore it up inside. "Hey, honey. How was Jamie's?"

"Jamie-ish," Jack replied vaguely, ducking his head to examine the contents of their fridge. "We got any pizza?"

Pizza being the comfort food of teenage boys worldwide and something Jack desperately craved at that particular moment.

Mary almost snorted. "Uh, no. Have some fruit."

_Have some fruit. _Standard Mom response, but Jack didn't comment and left the kitchen empty-handed as Jennifer Aniston shouted passionately at David Schwimmer.

Some things never changed.

Jack was so preoccupied with thoughts that he almost didn't notice how far across the room his bed had moved until he walked straight into it. Startled, he stumbled back and stared at in blankly, his brain struggling to catch up with the pain in his knee.

Ordinarily, he would have walked to the far corner of the room, turned neatly on one heel and flopped down on his bed. Instead, he only made it so far before his knee met painfully with the bed's upholstery, where it now sat at an awkward angle in the middle of his room.

Casting his eye further, Jack could also see that his dirty laundry was flung carelessly in a pile by the door, and various items from all over the house were strewn across his floor. The handful of books he slotted onto the shelves jutting from the walls were either missing or wonky.

In short, nothing was as he left it, and a slow, cold panic was starting to choke him from the inside out.

What had Jamie said? Stuff about his stuff moving around without his having touched it? Oh God, oh God- there was a ghost in his room and it had trashed his stuff and what was he going to do? What about Emma? He skidded down the corridor, flailing clumsily and slamming into walls on his way down to the living room where his mother was still quite composed and waiting patiently for the ads to finish so she could get back to her favourite sitcom.

"Mom!" Jack gasped, coming to a stop upon crashing into the couch. "Mom, did you- have you seen what happened to my room?"

"What?" With apparent effort, Mary brought her head away from the television. "Oh- oh, that. I was trying to clean, I thought maybe you'd like to rearrange your room a bit." Her cheeks flushed and she looked down. "Sorry, I- I got distracted, I'll finish it up now-"

Jack sagged with relief. Not a ghost, then. Just his mom. "It's OK," he replied almost automatically as he drifted back to his room again. "I'll do it."

But upon returning to his room, all he did was throw himself down on the bed (as per the original plan) and push the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

_Pull yourself together, Overland, _he told himself. _There is _nothing wrong_. So you're having a few nightmares, so what? You can't go walking around seeing ghosts everywhere you go, they don't exist. It was just your _mom _for God's sake. There's no such thing as ghosts. _

By some stroke of fate, or maybe just misfortune, Jack's head rolled then, and for the first time he noticed the corner where the carpet peeled up. Normally it would have been hidden by his bed, but with his room in disarray somehow it stuck out to him like a sore thumb.

His next actions were ones he would soon learn to regret. He rolled off the bed, landed on his stomach with a muffled _oof_, and crawled along the carpet for further investigation. One hand stretched out, grasped the carpet and tugged it back: it peeled away easily, as if it had always been that way.

Every one of Jack's problems vanished then, replaced by a piqued curiosity. He peeled the carpet back as far as it could go and, keeping it in place with one foot, scrambled over to see what lay beneath.

There, carved into the old wooden floorboards, was an ancient, rotting trapdoor.

Jack acted on instinct, thinking only of adventure and future hide-and-seek games with Emma. With considerable effort, he managed to yank the trapdoor free, propping it up against his wall and bracing himself on either side of the yawning opening, peering into the blackness.

A cold wind surged up to meet him, ruffling his hair and carrying on it the unmistakable scent of…

Jack backpedalled furiously, going all the way back until his back met painfully with his wardrobe and even then he continued pushing up against it. Still it followed him, like shadowy tendrils snaking out of the trapdoor and wrapping themselves lovingly around him, until all he could hear was his heart in his ears and his entire being was preoccupied with that one emotion:

_Fear._

The cavern. The haunted cavern he had found, it was under his _house _and his room- his _bedroom _was- what would you call it? A portal? A highway? Whatever it was, he didn't like it, and…

_No. There's no way. Ghosts don't exist, remember?_

Maybe not, but as much as Jack hated himself for reaching for the phone- he probably hated himself more for reaching with a trembling hand- he knew he wouldn't be able to wipe the doubt from his mind until Jamie proved or disproved it.

_Look at you, _he thought dismally as he lifted the phone to his ear, trying to breathe normally again and never being able to take his eyes away from the yawning trapdoor. _Turning to a fairytale-obsessed kid for protection._

"Jack!" Jamie picked up almost immediately. "Hey, look, I read this really weird thing before that might help-"

Jack managed a short, shaky laugh. "How long have you been researching?"

He could almost feel Jamie's shrug. "Since you left. Anyway, I think I found something you might find interesting-"

"Me too," Jack interrupted grimly, trying to edge further away from the trapdoor. Maybe he'd find a rod to close it with later, because there was no way in _hell _he was going anywhere near that thing again. "Remember that haunted hole under my house?"

"Ye-es?"

"Yeah, well. Turns out the front door is under my bed."

There was an odd cracking and creaking that suggested to Jack that Jamie had fallen out of his chair, and then a mad series of fumbles as he scrabbled to pick his phone up again. In his mind's eye he saw his friend running a hand through his hair and rolling across the floor in his office chair, flinging himself at his computer or notes or whatever it was he kept in his desk.

"Oh man, oh man… Jack, did you open it?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "No, I just instinctively knew it was there. Of course I opened it! Mom moved my bed and it was _there _and I just…"

He sagged with hopelessness. He'd been an idiot, practically walked right into it- how could he have forgotten something as big as the freaking haunted cavern under his house? How could he have thought, even for one moment, that the trapdoor would lead anywhere different? And if ghosts _were _involved- and he was becoming increasingly convinced that there were- then opening that trapdoor was definitely a stupid thing to do.

"It's- it's under your _bed?_" Jack had never heard Jamie so scared before, and he was meant to be the one equipped to deal with these things.

"Yeah, what- what're you thinking, man?"

"Oh man- you're gonna think I'm an idiot, Jack, but- I think you've got the Boogeyman living under your house."

A long silence followed that, and Jamie waited it out with bated breath. Once he had actually processed his words, Jack burst out with laughter, fuelled with nerves and fear.

"The _Boogeyman? _Come on, Jamie. That's a kid's tale, a stupid story."

"They've made horror films based on it," Jamie pointed out. "Besides, it- it makes sense, don't you see? You've been having nightmares, and they all seem to be coming from this place that's _under your bed_-"

Jack groaned. "Jamie-"

"And- and they got worse when you discovered his- his home, or whatever, so he _knows _you're there-"

"I live above him," Jack grumbled. "It'd be hard not to- no!" He smacked his palm into his forehead. "I'm not letting you talk me into this, Jamie Bennet. There's something weird going on, but it's not _that_."

"But it makes sense!" Jamie insisted. "Come on, Jack, _trust _me. Who's the expert here?"

"I don't care!" Jack cried. "It's- _Emma's _scared of the Boogeyman. Not me."

"Please, Jack, listen to me. If you have another nightmare tonight- and I am, like, ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent sure you will- then you have to open the trapdoor and call him up."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"You can talk to him, tell him to piss off- whatever. Just promise me you will."

"Jamie, I'm not-"

"_Promise._" Jamie's lighthearted voice was unusually firm, and after a moment's hesitation Jack relented.

"Fine. Whatever."

Jamie exhaled. "Thank you. And, uh, you know. Good luck."

"Thanks, man," Jack replied wearily, and hung up without further comment.

His eyes strayed again to the trapdoor. Jamie was right- there was no doubt that he would have another nightmare tonight, and if recent events were anything to go by it would be a bad one. He wondered what would happen when he 'called' this so-called Boogeyman forth. Would he melt up through the floorboards? Throw the trapdoor open and spring up?

Just in case, Jack took the trouble of carefully jamming the door shut, pulling the carpet over it once more and pushing his bed back into place.

Just in case.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys! I'm so glad this has gotten such a warm reception, I was so nervous about posting it… You guys are all fabulous 3**

_The silence was worse than the shouting. It pressed down on all sides, crushing him, suffocating him with the weight of words unsaid. The disappointment seemed to contaminate him, mingling with shame and desperation. His tongue tripped over itself to apologize and words spilled out at random, and even as he tried his hardest he knew not one of them would make a difference. He had let her down, and she was tired, and he was just another problem to be solved. More weight on her back, bringing them all down…_

Jack woke up tumbling through air.

The fall was short: he landed on his bedroom floor with a dull thud, but no sound came from him: he was still too disoriented, still too caught up in the dream to really have any idea what was going on.

Bit by bit, though, he remembered, and wearily hauled himself upright: not a dream, but a nightmare. Unusually vivid, but not, as he slowly came to realize, particularly scary. At least, not the _I'm-never-going-to-sleep-again _kind of scary. More the _oh-my-God-what-if-that-actually-happened _kind. And the more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him. Not just the actual content of the nightmare itself- it hadn't been so much of a scene as a distinct feeling in his chest- but the way it specifically targeted his insecurities, like it had been tailor-made just for him. First the ordeal of his parent's divorce, now this long-buried fear of letting his mother down. One after the other, sequential and organized, almost as if…

As if someone was _making _him have nightmares.

Jack groaned and tipped his head back against his bed, remembering his conversation with Jamie earlier that morning. He had spent all day throwing off sleep as long as possible- assignments, books, ridiculous amounts of coffee, you name it- but the moment his head had reluctantly hit the pillow he was dead to the world, like he had been drugged or something.

He wouldn't mention that to Jamie, either.

Speaking of which, though. He _had _made a promise, and he _was _looking for answers.

First things first, he poked his head into the corridor and scanned it up and down. Emma's bedroom door was tightly shut, and at the very end of the hall so was his mom's. Both of them undoubtedly experiencing a long, peaceful night of untroubled sleep he could only envy. Closing the door again carefully, Jack fervently hoped that this whole Boogeyman-summoning business wouldn't cause some kind of howling-wind reaction. That would be pretty awkward to explain.

Taking a deep breath, Jack turned to face his room from the door. He had put it all back in order since his mother's earlier attempts at cleaning, but in the dark looked strange and unfamiliar. He found himself unwilling to step in any further than he had to, reluctant to move closer to his bed. That was where the nightmares were.

But, because Jamie was the kind of guy who loved making Jack's life as fun and easy as possible, he had to. According to the multiple and ultimately weird e-mails he had sent throughout the day, he had to get close to the trapdoor- so that whatever was down there would hear him, he supposed- and call in as loud and clear a voice as possible, granted that he had to do it all without waking anyone else up. Jack supposed it could have been a lot worse- God forbid that he had to draw up a pentagram and recite some stupid Latin incantation- but as he gingerly folded his legs on his messy bed, flashlight in hand, he still couldn't help feeling like an idiot.

"Hey-" His voice was a pathetic, lilting whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Oh-kaay, so this is really stupid but I kinda promised my friend Jamie I'd do this and-"

And all of a sudden he remembered his solid three months of nightmares and just how pissed off he was about that.

"And what the hell is your problem, man? I know you're there- I damn well hope you are, because if you're not then I'm crazy- and I've got a bone to pick with you so you had better get your ass up here right _now _because I ohmyGod."

It happened so quickly he barely had time to even process it. Just beyond the light of the torch, the shadows behind his desk solidified and took shape, and in moments he was there, as if he had been there all along.

_He _was a tall man, maybe in his thirties with sharp features and oddly grey skin. Jack couldn't tell where his black robe started and his flesh ended, or even where the robe ended and the shadows began: they all blended in to one big black blob, tall and imposing and infinite. A shock of dark, tangled hair shot straight up from the back of his head, which would have almost looked comical if it had been on anyone else's head.

And his eyes. Those glinting, yellow eyes, watching Jack with the same amused malice he had almost become familiar with.

He was the embodiment of terror and fear. He was the Boogeyman.

"Yes, Jack?" His voice was deep dark and cultured and, in this case, patronizingly earnest. "You what?"

"You- you're-" Jamie hadn't sent any instructions for this.

The Boogeyman's face fell and he looked decidedly unimpressed. "I'm what? Real? Yes, well done, Jack. You're starting to catch on."

"N-no way…" No-one had prepared him for this.

"Way." Dry as dead twigs, flat as the bottom of a frying pan.

No-one had told him that this would actually _work_.

"How do you know my name?" Jack asked hoarsely.

"You live above me," the Boogeyman said drily. "It'd be hard not to know your name."

Jack had heard those words before. He'd _said _them before. "You- How long have you _been _here?"

Now he smiled, baring a mouth full of small, pointy grey teeth. "Oh, I've always been here, Jack. You just never looked hard enough."

Jack raised his eyebrows, studying the imposing figure next to his desk again. "No offence, man, but it's kind of hard _not _to notice you."

"A boy as sharp as you, certainly," he replied drily. "It's a wonder I ever went this long undetected."

He started pacing, swinging his long legs one in front of the other and loping leisurely around the desk. Shrinking back, Jack flicked the flashlight in his direction. Without missing a beat, the Boogeyman melted into a pool of shadows and sprung up again on the other side. Jack flinched back, swinging the torch around wildly.

"Stay back," he whispered.

The Boogeyman smirked. "Are you scared, Jack?" he crooned. "Scared of the monsters under the bed?"

"What do you want?" All of the bravado, all of the superiority Jack was supposed to have established in this meeting- all of it was gone. The man before him radiated fear, and Jack was being infected from the inside out.

The Boogeyman laughed, a dark, low chuckle. "Nothing of consequence to you, Jack."

"Then _leave me alone._" Somehow, an edge of firmness managed to work its way into his whisper, but depending on your interpretation it could've just as easily been pleading.

"Leave you alone?" The Boogeyman turned to face Jack with a look of mock surprise. "Oh, I can't do that, Jack."

Jack fought to keep his features hard and unforgiving. "I really can't see any reason why."

"With someone so accessible? So vulnerable? How could you expect me to leave?"

Jack felt his heart seize up. _As if the nightmares had been made for him… _"What are you talking about?"

"We're all afraid of something, Jack." The Boogeyman's voice was lilting and teasing, a dark kind of sing-song that twisted and turned and got into your head. Jack hated it. "What do you think nightmares are made of?"

This- this sick bastard, this was the guy that had been sending Jack nightmares, tormenting him for the last three months, purposely sending him the very things that he somehow _knew _would terrorize his sleep. His rage rose up and choked him, and for the moment it was all he could to do glare with as much hatred as his eyes could communicate.

"But you… You're quite unique, you know," he continued conversationally, examining Jack's meagre library off-handedly. He didn't spare his nightmaree so much as a glance. "So much fear, bottled deep inside and pushed away under the carpet." He grinned and shook his head. "Oh, I _love _it when they do that. Such a relief to let it all out, to see the looks on their faces when they realize what dark thoughts they've been hiding from themselves and the world."

He looked at Jack, yellow eyes locking with brown ones. "Such fun to watch them slowly go mad," he murmured, and you'd have to be deaf the miss the meaningfulness he put into his eyes and voice when he spoke.

"You're a monster," Jack whispered.

"Of course I am," the Boogeyman said, and was that bitterness in his voice? "I'm the Boogeyman."

He held up a bony grey hand, and a dark, glittering tornado spun up from his palm. Jack watched it in mystification as it rose up in the air, then glanced at the conjurer's face. His mouth was twisted into a snarl.

"Time to go to sleep, Jack."

He blew the dust away from his palm the way kids made wishes on dandelions, but this one flew with infinitely more speed and accuracy than flowers did, racing towards Jack like a bullet. With a strangled cry he grabbed a pillow and flung it at the dust, effectively disintegrating it.

The Boogeyman laughed, dark and deep.

At the same time, he rolled off his bed, waving his torch around wildly in the Boogeyman's general direction and running blindly across his room until his fingers pressed the light switch and the room was lit up with yellow light.

The Boogeyman was gone, but the echoes of his laughter remained.

Covered in cold sweat- _when did that happen?_- and gasping for shuddering breaths, Jack sank down against the wall until he could fold his arms across his knees and press his forehead against them.

That was terrible. It was worse than- than all of the nightmares combined, that overpowering fear and feeling of absolute powerlessness. He was completely insubstantial compared to whatever power it was that the monster under his bed wielded, and they both knew it.

Worse still was that he wasn't going away. Not anytime soon.

There was no way Jack was going back to sleep now. Suddenly that familiar concept of 'sleep is a teenager's best friend' seemed completely alien and wrong to him. He was going to find a way to stay awake forever. He had to.

Wearily climbing to his feet, he trudged down the corridor- waving the flashlight in a wild spin in lieu of having no light in the hall- and found the moonlit kitchen. He set up camp at the kitchen bench, one light lit over his head and flashlight grasped firmly in one hand.

The other hand lifted a cup of coffee to his mouth. It would be the first of many.

"You can't just turn a light on and think everything is going to be all right, Jack."

Jack gave a strangled cry and jumped, whirling around and almost slopping coffee down his front. When he saw his favourite little creep standing in the shadows by the kitchen table, his shoulders sagged.

"What, are you following me now?" Even as he spoke, Jack was surprised: all of a sudden, he was unafraid. He remembered the Boogeyman's words from before, about how he bottled up his fear and kept it to himself. Was he doing that now? Was he forcing himself to get used to this dark presence, prepare himself for the undoubtedly long haul ahead? Or was the Boogeyman just toning down the fear factor? If so, why?

He wiped the uncertainty from his face. The Boogeyman already had one point over him: it was time to even the scores a little.

Much to Jack's disappointment, the man wreathed in blackness stepped fluidly into the circle of light the kitchen offered. "I think you'll find intelligent conversation is rather difficult to come by in my neck of the woods," he sighed, brushing imaginary lint off his bony shoulder. "Even if you are a little bit thick, I'm afraid you're the only conversation I've got."

"Gee, thanks," Jack grumbled, turning back to his coffee. He hadn't started sweating yet. So far, so good.

The Boogeyman shrugged- an oddly humanizing gesture, Jack realized- and took a seat next to Jack, who edged away pointedly. "Uh, can you _not?_" he asked. "I'm trying to get rid of you here." He wiggled the coffee mug in his direction. "Or do you not get the message?"

"Loud and clear, Jack," the Boogeyman replied with that taunting little grin.

He didn't move.

Silence settled between the two of them. Jack, stony-faced, stared straight ahead and tried to ignore his companion's existence, who sat behind him like a statue studying the coffee in Jack's hand.

Eventually, he sighed. "What do I get to call you, then?"

The Boogeyman blinked, surprised. Jack noticed and shrugged. "Well, you're clearly not gonna leave me alone any time soon. And I'm happy to make this as uncomfortable as possible, so if I have to call you Mister Boogey I will."

He shrugged again and sipped his coffee, smiling internally with pride. _This is more like it, Overland._

The Boogeyman sniffed distastefully. "Pitch is fine," he said, as if the words left a sour taste in his mouth. "Pitch Black."

He held out a hand, the universal signal for a handshake. As if being on a first-name basis made them _friends _or something.

Jack just twitched an eyebrow and gave him a sidelong glance. "Stupid name," he said casually, and took a big swig of his coffee.

Oh yes. He was going to make this _very _uncomfortable.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Biiit of a filler, this one… Sorry guys. Had to be done D;**

Jamie found Jack at his usual haunt, at the very fringes of the school grounds usually reserved for dumpsters and junkies. To be fair, this one did have a dumpster, and today it also had a junkie, of sorts: Jack sat with his back against the brick wall, perched atop the lid of the huge bin and swigging what had to be his third bottle of Coke that day. His hair was ruffled- more so than usual, at least- and his eyes looked far too big for his head. His hands never stopped moving, and when Jamie approached he snatched the bottle away.

"That's enough," he said firmly, tipping out the remainder of the plastic bottle on a sad little daisy struggling from beneath the dumpster.

Jack shrugged and didn't argue or defend himself, directing his gaze across the school quad and drumming his thighs with his hands restlessly. The day had passed in a blur of caffeine: when his mom and sister had found him in the kitchen so early- earlier than usual, anyway- he had lied and told them he'd been up since 6 and hoped his mom wouldn't notice their depleted coffee stores. No-one commented on the tall, dark stranger next to Jack, and he followed their example and did the same. It was only after he turned back after lifting Emma up to reach the toaster- she had been determined to prove that she could make better toast than Jack- that he noticed that the Boogeyman- _Pitch Black_- had gone. He hadn't seen him since, but that didn't stop his eyes straying to every man-sized shadow he saw, just to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Jamie threw himself down on the ground opposite Jack and fixed his friend with an expectant stare. "So?" he demanded finally. "What happened? How'd it go?"

Jack glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "Take a look at my recent diet," he said drily. "Tell me what you think."

Jamie's jaw dropped and his eyes widened like a seven year old's. "He came," he breathed.

Jack laughed bitterly and jumped down from the dumpster, pacing back and forth with big, leisurely steps. "Oh, he came all right," he confirmed. "And he's not going away any time soon."

Speaking very fast- because he still didn't want to believe it or because of the caffeine in his system, Jamie didn't know- Jack related the events of the previous night with the kind of detail that gave the impression that it was a night ingrained into his memory.

"So… What are you going to do?" Jamie asked after a long silence, dumbfounded. The truth was, he hadn't taken the Boogeyman legends much more seriously than Jack had- he hadn't even expected the summoning thing to work. And if it did, he had only ever envisioned some kind of sniveling, pathetic wreck, the stuff of a children's picture book. Easily controlled, easily banished. Not this, this- entity, this raw, dark power. A man made of fear and shadows.

He'd always thought that when- _if _- he ever discovered a real ghost, it would be some kind of great adventure. Fun and exhilarating. All he felt now was useless and afraid, and _he _wasn't even the one with the nightmares. He had no solutions for this, and it made him as frustrated as it did worried.

Jack shrugged, pulling him out of his reverie. "Stay awake," he answered simply. "Talk to him. Make him feel bad about giving me nightmares until he stops."

Jamie wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. "Do people like that _feel _bad about stuff like this? I mean, he's the _Boogeyman_."

Jack glanced at Jamie like he really couldn't see why this should matter.

"Well… It's, like, in his nature, right?" Jamie tried to explain. "He said that you were right there. So maybe all the nightmares you had before now were just, I don't know, built up residue that just happened to drift up to you because, you know, your bed is just _there._ And maybe they only started getting worse since you found his lair because he felt threatened, or he wanted to… test you, maybe- or maybe this just happens to _everyone _who meets him, it just _happens _and he can't help it-"

"Why are you defending him?" Jack rounded on him, suddenly angry. "You haven't even _met _him! You don't know what he's like, the guy's a freaking maniac."

"But it's his job-" Jamie said weakly.

"He told me he liked making people go mad!" Jack cried. "He meant _me_, Jamie! And then what's gonna happen? Say I go gibbering to a mental facility, what's gonna happen to Emma? Who's gonna look after her? Who's gonna stop _him _torturing her every night? I can't let that happen to her, Jamie!"

Of course. It always came back to Emma. Jamie should have guessed, should have known that Jack would go without sleep however long he had to if that meant protecting his little sister from the same nightmarish fate that he suffered. Anything to keep her safe and keep her with him.

Jack had turned away again and was kicking angrily at stones, swinging his feet at the dumpster and swearing under his breath when it hurt. Jamie watched with conflicted eyes, chewing his lip uncertainly. Jack was right: he hadn't met the Boogeyman. He didn't know what it was like to not want to crawl into bed at the end of a long day for fear of what might happen when you closed your eyes. He couldn't even begin to imagine whatever kind of raw fear possessed Jack at night, whenever the Boogeyman was in his presence.

But he did know what it meant to be willing to sacrifice everything for someone you loved. Jamie hadn't been looking after his little sister as long as Jack had, but Sophie was so quiet and diminutive that he had been caring for her long before their dad up and left them. He didn't have many friends, either, and Sophie was always happy to listen to his stories and legends. They had always been there for each other, and he knew what Jack meant when he said he couldn't put Emma in harm's way like that.

"I'll find a way to get rid of him," he promised, causing Jack to cease his angry pacing and look over his shoulder at him in surprise. "I'm not going to let you keep doing this, and I won't let Emma get caught up in this either."

Their eyes met, and a mutual understanding passed between them. Jack's shoulders sagged and he relaxed, sliding down against the side of the dumpster to face his friend. With a weary smile, he held out a fist, and with a lopsided grin Jamie bumped it with his own.

"Thanks, man," Jack said gratefully.

"No problem," Jamie replied with a shrug.

Just then, one of the burlier guys in Jack's grade passed their alley.

"Fags!" he bellowed on his way past. A weak argument, and a pointless one, but people like that existed to make people uncomfortable.

"Prick!" Jack replied almost absently, picking at the stitching on his hoodie. The remark was somewhat more justified, but then again- people like Jack just existed to annoy other people.

Jamie cast a sidelong glance at Jack. His first few weeks at Burgess had almost been scandalous- not once had there ever been a new kid with so much nerve as to interrupt teachers, prank students he didn't know and give a running commentary from the back of the classroom. But as it turned out, no-one actually knew anything about him. As weeks passed it became apparent that unless Jack Overland was actively trying to catch people's attention, he became invisible, and drifted through the school unnoticed.

Jamie started to notice, though. He noticed him on the bus with his little sister. He noticed him alone by the dumpsters at lunch. He noticed him being shoved against lockers by oblivious passer-by, and he noticed the sarcastic comments he would pass under his breath when it happened.

And as it just so happened, Jack noticed when Jamie was being pushed around too.

Some guys had cornered him outside the library after hours, making fun of him. Jamie had tried to duck away, but they grabbed him and shoved him back. His backpack was pulled down, thrown on the grown, kicked at. He was late to pick up Sophie from school, and he was panicking.

"Hey!" A voice, a tall skinny shadow. "Ever hear the saying 'pick on someone your own size'?"

Jamie assumed then that he threatened the guys with blackmail- told them that he had filmed part of the scuffle on his phone, that he could go to the police if he wanted to- but he never knew for certain. One minute he had been surrounded: the next he was free, and the only person to thank for it was that weird Overland kid.

Jack had helped him get his stuff together, and then hauled him to his feet.

"Bennet, right? Jamie Bennet?"

"Y-yeah. Hey, thanks for-"

"Don't mention it." Jack had waved it off carelessly and offered a hand. "Jack Overland. Our sisters are friends."

And just like that, so were Jack and Jamie, and suddenly school didn't seem like such an ordeal anymore.

"Someone's gonna hit you some day," Jamie commented presently, remembering he had a lunch and starting to pick at it.

"Not if I hit them first," Jack replied. His hands had gone back to fidgeting in absence of the pacing, and his head twitched crazily.

Jamie noticed this, too, with a fair amount of doubt. "Dude, you need to stop with the coffee. You're scaring me."

Then Jack looked back to him, and Jamie remembered. _Whatever it takes._

"Right. Never mind."

The two boys turned their heads in unison and looked out across the quad in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack and Emma walked home together that afternoon, though it's probably more accurate to say that Jack ran and Emma was dragged along behind, unable to understand why he brother was so energetic all of a sudden. Once home, he quickly abandoned the idea of homework and insisted on a game of tag outside. They played for several hours, though the game was wildly unfair- given Jack's long legs and heightened energy levels he could catch Emma easily and evade her for as long as he liked.

Eventually she managed to fling her little arms around both of his legs and bring him down: they toppled and lay on the grass of their front lawn, breathless and exhilarated.

"You're acting funny," Emma giggled when Jack tossed her up easily, her stomach flat across the soles of his shoes.

"I'm _hilarious_," Jack drawled, and at that moment their mother pulled up beside them.

Emma wriggled and flung herself into Jack's outstretched hands and ran across the lawn to greet her. Jack flipped himself upright and followed, suddenly calm and quiet.

"What've you two been up to?" Mary asked, standing straight after hugging Emma.

"We played tag!" Emma explained eagerly. "Jack is really really fast and-"

"Have you done your homework?"

Emma stopped abruptly and the two Overland children exchanged glances.

Jack stepped forward and gently pushed Emma back. _I've got this._

"Not yet," he explained to his mother's back lightly. "We kinda just- yeah, we got home and I was bored so I thought, _hey, let's…_"

He trailed off when his mother sagged against the open car door. In any other household, throwing off homework for a few hours wouldn't have been so bad- God knew everyone else did it. But with the Overlands, it was work first, play later. Get set up for a better future first, play later. Think of your mom and all the hard work she's doing for you first, play later. The Golden Rule, and in a caffeinated high he'd completely forgotten it and he'd let her down.

There was an unpleasant surge in his stomach when he remembered his dream from the night before. There was no way the two things were connected, right? One was dream, one was reality. That was all there was to it.

Somehow, given everything else that had happened that week, Jack wasn't quite so ready to accept it as coincidence.

"Go inside," his mom said finally with a heavy sigh, standing straight. "Jack, finish your assignment, I'll help Emma."

"Mom, I-"

"It's fine, Jack."

But it wasn't fine. Everything had to be reshuffled in her orderly timetable: helping Emma would mean there was less time to mark essays and plan classes, which would mean there was less time for a good, proper dinner at a reasonable time, and if Emma didn't get a good sleep then she would do badly in school tomorrow as would Jack and even Mary and…

It was weird, Jack thought, how one childish game could throw an entire family out of sync.

He lead Emma back inside, then continued to his room by himself. She watched him go with big, sad eyes, almost as if she would never see him again. Jack gave her a tight smile and a little thumbs up before disappearing into his room, throwing the door shut behind him.

Jack threw himself down at his desk with a sigh and rubbed his face wearily. Consuming that much coffee in one day had definitely been a bad idea: even after running some of it off coming back from school, he still felt far too energetic to sit down and focus. His head was full enough as it was, and now with his mom angry at him-

"Ooh, someone's in trouble."

With a strangled cry, Jack whirled around, and immediately scolded himself for doing so. Of course he would be there. He would _always _be there, for however long it took for Jack to figure out some kind of solution, and he had to start getting used to it now. He was meant to be the bigger man here- he couldn't be upstaged by this creep.

Apparently the Boogeyman knew what he was thinking, because he grinned. "Forget I was here?" he continued, taunting and patronizing. Jack's fingers twitched.

"A girl can dream," he replied sarcastically. "But I don't suppose you'd get that, being the Boogeyman and stuff."

He wiggled his hands and spun back around to face his desk, more than happy to ignore the man sitting on his bed like some kind of nightmarish Mona Lisa. He attacked an assignment at random, twirling his pen between two fingers and staring blankly at the words before him. He couldn't focus on anything for longer than a handful of seconds, not with the amount of caffeine in his system.

Not to mention the fact that it was kind of hard to ignore the Boogeyman watching you intently from your own bed.

"OK, seriously?" Jack said suddenly, spinning around again to face him. "That's _my bed_. Can you, like, sit somewhere else?"

Pitch bared his little teeth in a grin and extended a long finger at the floor. "My hole," he countered. "I was here first."

Jack snorted. "What are you, three? _I was here first, _give me a break. I thought _I _was meant to be the idiot here."

"If you're comfortable with it," Pitch said with a careless shrug, examining Jack's bedside table. An unread English novel- something about a whole bunch of French guys who were pissed off about their government, Jack still couldn't pronounce the name- claimed prime place. Pitch picked it up with spidery hands, flicking through it with the disinterested air of someone who already knew the ending.

Jack gave up all attempts at a subtle attack and splayed his hands at the Boogeyman. "OK, what's your game?" he asked abruptly. "What are you- do you enjoy this, or…?"

Pitch's hands tightened on the novel and there was a flash of something in his eyes; he regained his composure quickly, but Jack noticed it and filed it away for later investigation.

"It's my job," he said delicately, setting the book down gingerly on the desk. "No-one else will do it, and so the responsibility falls to me."

He glanced at the sky through the window when he spoke, with just the smallest hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Are there others?" Jack asked cautiously, ready to make a break for it if Pitch tried to give him any nightmares again. "Like, I dunno, the groundhog, or the leprechaun, or-"

"There are others," Pitch replied sharply. "But they will not tolerate me."

"Wonder why?" Jack asked sarcastically. Pitch glared at him over his shoulder.

Inferiority complex. Now they were getting somewhere.

"That must suck, huh?" Jack said wistfully, sifting through a pile of papers on his desk. "Guess you must've gotten the bottom of the barrel. Can't be much fun, hiding under other people's beds."

Pitch didn't reply. Jack pressed on. He knew how to annoy people, and he knew how to exploit their weaknesses. He'd get there if it took him all night.

"Who're the others, then?" No reply. "Bet they never asked _you _if you wanted a holiday. No Groundhog Day for you. No Saint Pat's. Must be feeling pretty neglected, huh?"

"Really, Jack, don't you have homework you should be doing?" Pitch finally snapped. Jack grinned inwardly. "You don't want to upset your mother more than you already have."

Jack felt his heart twitch, if that was possible, and near-familiar fear took root in his mind. He clenched his fists and fought it: he knew that Pitch was only trying to get him to shut up, trying to squash him under his boot before Jack had the chance to figure him out. Well, he'd been squashing him for too long. Time to turn the tables.

"I think she's built up a tolerance to me," Jack replied coolly, holding Pitch's gaze, showing him that he wouldn't back down. "And I've got more interesting matters to attend to."

Pitch's eyes flared. "Oh?"

"Oh," Jack confirmed. "How come no-one else in my house is complaining of sleep issues? You just too lazy to terrorize everyone else?"

Pitch didn't reply, but Jack felt a fresh wave of fear wash over him. That was response enough.

"Or do you feel bad?" he pressed. "Can't bring yourself to hurt a little girl. Is that it?"

Pitch's eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders hunched in concentration and anger. "I am the Nightmare King," he hissed. "I have no boundaries."

Jack was breaking out in a cold sweat again. His arms were trembling, though whether it was from effort or fear he didn't know. An assortment of images tried to break through his imagination, but he fought them off. He would not let Pitch win this one.

"You have no idea what I can do," he snarled, rising to his feet. The sunlight seemed to be sucked out of the room and the shadows converged around his outstretched arms, like they were about to hug him. Jack knew there was no way this was a hug he wanted part in.

"Oh, I think I know," Jack replied through gritted teeth, forcing himself to stand. He wasn't backing down, he couldn't. Not now. "But you said it yourself, buddy. Everyone's afraid of something. What are _you _scared of?"

Something happened then- a reaction, maybe, or perhaps Jack reached his mental capacity, or one of them won out over the other, because at that moment the two of them were flung back by some invisible force, sending Pitch sprawling on his back and Jack spinning wildly in his office chair until he hit his desk.

His fringe was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his hands were trembling and his heart thumped away like a jackrabbit. But still Jack held the Boogeyman's dazed gaze, and kept his voice as level as he could when he spoke.

"You're not as misunderstood as you'd like to think, Pitch Black."

Pitch stared at him then, mouth swinging agape. He'd never been challenged like this before, Jack realized. That had to be why the house was so cheap- people would move in, discover strange phenomena, declare it haunted and leave. No-one had ever stayed this long before, let alone bothered to bring him forth. And even if they had, they never would have dared to defy him.

Jack couldn't help but wonder if he'd just dug himself a bigger hole in doing exactly that.

"Jack?"

Emma knocked on the door, voice small and scared, jerking Jack to his senses. Without a second thought he scrabbled to the door, ignoring Pitch's presence behind him and scooping Emma up in his arms the moment he opened the door.

"You done your homework already?" he asked softly. Holding her little body against his, he felt himself calm down considerably. Emma was a constant, something he could always rely on to be able to hold on to. And he needed a little bit of normal at the moment.

She nodded and pressed her head into his shoulder. "Are you in trouble?" she asked quietly, picking at the drawstrings of Jack's hoodie.

"Don't you worry about me," Jack replied, poking her nose. It had made her laugh when she was baby, and somehow it had carried through to this day. "But I think we should get up extra early tomorrow morning to make mom breakfast in bed or something."

Emma grinned. "I'm in charge of toast," she declared, and Jack poked his tongue out at her.

She giggled and craned her neck over his shoulder to look at his desk. "Do you need help with _your _homework?"

Jack looked at her doubtfully. "Do you _want _to help with my homework?"

When Mary came several hours later, she found Emma sitting on Jack's lap and struggling to understand math concepts far beyond her budding grasp of division. It was only when they went to dinner that Jack dared to turn around.

Pitch was nowhere to be seen.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been an eerily Pitch-free day, and upon returning home the following afternoon Jack was nervous to stray near his room. Had he made him mad? Scared him off? He doubted it- he had looked more startled than anything after yesterday's little scene, and if Jamie's suspicions were anything to go by then all Jack had achieved was make him more interested in him- kind of the opposite of what he was aiming for.

He ducked into his room long enough only to swipe his battered laptop and English novel off the desk and whisk it back to the living room, multi-tasking with doing his own work and helping Emma (they were still working off their little stuff- up from the day before). Naturally Jack's work took much longer to finish than hers did- largely because he still couldn't pronounce or spell half the character's names ('If it's pronounced _John val-John_ why can't they just spell it that way?")- and as is the nature of eight-year-old girls she naturally pounced on the TV remote the moment she was done.

Jack glanced up at the sound of Matthew Perry. He doubted that Emma actually understood anything on _Friends_, but she knew their mom liked it and that it usually made her smile. He couldn't repress a smile himself: she was a resourceful little kid. He liked to think she got it from him.

His neck prickled then, and he felt as if all of his senses were going into overdrive. His little corner darkened inexplicably and he felt a blanket of cold wrap around him.

The smile vanished from his face. The grace period was over, apparently.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around… _

"It's Y-O-U-_apostrophe_-R-E," the Boogeyman sighed delicately from behind. "Not Y-O-U-R."

"My essay, my rules," Jack growled, jabbing at the backspace button until the typo was remedied.

"_Cosette, _not Collette," he continued in what he probably imagined to be a helpful kind of way, peering concernedly over Jack's shoulder. "And 'Ponine' is a pet name. It's _E_ponine."

"If _you're _so good at it, you can do it!" Jack snapped, whirling around to face Pitch, who simply twitched his eyebrows and glanced meaningfully at Emma in response.

"Who're you talking to?" the girl herself called from the couch.

_Crap. _"Uh- m-myself," Jack replied hastily, glancing at Mary, too absorbed in her own work to take notice of either the TV or her son. Satisfied that he was safe on that front, he quickly redirected his gaze to glare at Pitch.

"Not my fault," was all he said, holding his hands up in defence. "And I'm sure it would be a pleasure to do your homework for you, but unfortunately I'm rather incapable with technology."

"Which hardly makes you an anomaly," Jack muttered over his shoulder.

Pitch's eyebrows raised again, and without further ado he flung his hand at the laptop screen.

"Hey, don't-!"

But his hand simply went straight through the screen, as if the laptop were no more substantial than smoke. Jack stared, open-mouthed and pop-eyed, and having proved his point Pitch curled his fingers into a fist and withdrew.

"How did you… Why- What?" Jack gestured speechlessly between the Boogeyman and the computer.

Pitch held his hand up to his face and regarded it almost wistfully. "We are not of the same worlds," he explained: snapped out of his trance, Jack rolled his eyes. If the nightmares didn't kill him, the melodrama would. "Interaction has to go both ways."

Jack's eyes narrowed, realization hovering on the tip of his tongue. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Emma, now thoroughly disinterested with _Friends _and toddling off down the corridor to find some new source of entertainment.

"Is that why they can't see you?" Jack asked quietly, turning back to face the Boogeyman. His long grey face was unusually sober, almost sad. It unarmed Jack; it forced him to think of this monster as a person instead of a _thing _under his bed.

Pitch followed Jack's gaze as Emma disappeared from sight. "People only see what they want to believe," he said wistfully. "No-one wants to believe in the Boogeyman."

Jack's emotions rolled in his stomach. On the one hand, Jamie was right: Pitch was just lonely. Jack was the first believer he had found in God knew how long, and it stood to reason that he would do anything for a little recognition. Jack could understand that. Why else would he make an idiot of himself in front of a school of strangers?

On the other hand. This was also the creep that had been giving him nightmares for three months. That wasn't the kind of grudge you just _got over_, especially not considering their first meeting.

Pitch caught Jack watching him; he looked away hastily. "You're afraid of me," he commented.

Jack pressed his lips together and returned to his assignment. He wasn't scared of Pitch _as such_; rather, he was scared of what he could do. The Nightmare King was right- Jack really didn't know just how great his powers were. Not fully. Jamie's research had been relatively despondent- turned out no-one really took the Boogeyman seriously- and Jack wasn't exactly keen for further demonstration to find out for himself. He wasn't even sure what had happened yesterday- who had won, what it meant, if he would be able to do it again. He didn't want to have to take any risks, if only for Emma's sake.

"I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you," Pitch said airily, moving towards the couch. Jack started and felt his heart plummet to his stomach. "You're quite the… how did you put it before? Anomaly. I'd rather like to see how this plays out before destroying you right away." He grinned over his shoulder. "In the nicest way possible."

"Thanks," Jack muttered, ducking his head and digesting this new news. Could Pitch read minds? Probably not- he could read fear, more like. Which would explain a lot. He was insubstantial to everyone but Jack, but surely that didn't render him powerless to the rest of the world… he would have to ask Jamie. And apparently they were under some kind of truce, which was a plus as far as Jack was concerned. The next best thing to getting rid of him altogether.

Pith threw himself down on the couch. He was so tall that a good part of his legs dangled uselessly over the edge, and Jack couldn't help raising an eyebrow. Since when was this part of the Boogeyman's personality?

He could almost hear Jamie crowing in his ear: _he's a good guy, it's just in his nature to be bad! I think the best of everyone because this is all a big adventure to me! Yaay!_

"What _is _this?" Pitch demanded. "A bunch of American people shouting at each other, that's original."

"It's called _Friends_," Jack explained earnestly. "I'd keep watching, you might learn something from it."

Emma returned, a book clutched in her hands. She kept reading as she walked, hopping up onto the couch and sitting smack-bang in the middle of Pitch's insubstantial chest.

Jack's stomach did a funny flip-flop when he saw it: after all, seeing your little sister's torso sticking out of the chest cavity of a man wasn't something he had been dying to see his entire life. And even if he had been a legend for hundreds of years, apparently Pitch wasn't used to it either: gobsmacked, he turned and stared pleadingly at Jack.

Jack wiped any traces of shock or sympathy from his face. No matter what Jamie said, this guy was still a twisted creep. And he had promised to make this as uncomfortable as possible.

"It's her couch, man," he said simply, shrugging and looking away.

Pitch gaped for a moment longer before huffing and folding his arms through Emma (also creepy and ultimately disturbing to watch). The girl was unfazed and oblivious.

Not so long after, Jack gave up. He hadn't slept since bringing Pitch forth, he had consumed obscene amounts of caffeine in the same time frame and there was way too much on his mind to deal with fictitious French revolutionaries. As he left the lounge room, he found David Schwimmer busy lecturing one of his unfortunate friends on grammar:

"Y-O-U-_APOSTROPHE_-R-E MEANS _YOU ARE!_ Y-O-U-R MEANS _YOUR!_"

Even Jack had to grin. "Look, Pitch," he said lightly. "It's you."

And he was gone.

Emma's head jerked up from her book and she looked around. "What…?"

Pitch caressed her head with a smoky hand; she didn't react. "Nothing," he murmured to deaf ears. "Absolutely nothing, little one."


	10. Chapter 10

Jack was reluctant to go to bed that night. The lows he hit after a caffeine rush certainly didn't seem worth it anymore, and he was so physically exhausted after almost two days without sleep that he didn't trust himself to lie down in a warm, comfortable bed and _not _give in to unconsciousness.

As such, he persevered through a tragic tale of French revolutionaries at his desk. He started sitting up relatively straight but by midnight his tailbone was right up against the edge of the chair, his legs were splayed awkwardly across his desk and he found that he had been staring at the same word for almost an hour.

_Get a grip. _Going without sleep wasn't a great plan- he knew that- but for the time being it was all he had and it was put up or shut up. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook himself: _Focus._

When he opened them again, Pitch stood hunched in the shadows before him. For the first time, Jack didn't start at the sight of him. Probably more out of over-tiredness than anything else.

"You know, if you go too long without sleep you can die," Pitch informed him conversationally, stepping into the circle of light offered by the lamp on Jack's desk. His immunity to light really pissed him off: it had been the one weakness he had been counting on.

"What are you, guardian of death as well as nightmares?" Jack grumbled, pretending to go back to his book.

Pitch stiffened. "I am guardian of nothing," he replied sharply.

There was something else there. A deeper meaning, a bigger picture… Whatever. Jack was too tired to care. He'd ask Jamie about it later. Right now he just had to stay awake… Stay awake…

Jack caught himself just as his eyes drooped shut. He sat upright with a jerk, and the book tumbled down from his lap. Pitch tutted pityingly, perched once again on Jack's bed (something else that pissed him off).

"You really need to sleep," he mused.

"With _you _hanging around here?" Jack snorted, stooping to retrieve the book from the floor. "I don't think so."

Pitch's eyes popped in mock surprise. "Don't you trust me?"

Jack gave him a look. "Frankly, I wouldn't trust you as far as I can spit."

Pitch smirked and took to examining Jack's bookshelf once again, even though he did it so often he could probably memorize the names, authors and blurbs of everything on there. "Emma trusts you," he said conversationally.

"I guess so," Jack said with a shrug. All he could think of was Emma's torso sticking out of Pitch's chest earlier that afternoon, and the look on Pitch's face when it had happened.

"It must have been very sad for her, when your father left."

Now it was Jack's turn to tense. "She was born after he left," he replied tightly.

Pitch nodded wisely. "You're the only father figure she's known. That makes sense."

Jack looked at him strangely. "What makes sense?"

"She relies on you to teach her and guide her like a father, but she idolizes you and plays with you like a brother," Pitch explained. "A strange balance. A nice one, I'm sure."

Jack wasn't impressed. "And you're clearly the expert on these things," he said sarcastically, spinning back around to face his desk.

"I was a father too, once," Pitch said quietly.

Jack froze. He had to be lying. Right? But even as he cast the sliest of sneaky glances over his shoulder, he saw the Boogeyman holding a grey palm out and cradling in it a black, dusty rose. His eyes were sad and wistful, more so than Jack would have thought possible.

Sadness like that only came from a parent who knew the loss of a child.

"What happened to her?" Jack's voice was so soft he thought, for a moment, that Pitch wouldn't hear it and he would be able to keep this sentimental moment to himself.

But his ears pricked, and he started and glanced at Jack, then back at the rose. With a sigh, he closed his fingers around it and let the crumbled sand sift through his fingers and to the floor.

"She was taken by the earth," was all he said, and then he would speak no more.

Jack returned to his book, thoroughly disturbed by this new development. Pitch was capable of human emotion. He had loved, been loved. He tried to deny the fascination building in his mind, tried to bite back the questions and stay cold and detached.

But he couldn't help it. He knew what it was like, to love someone like that. And if he lost her… He didn't even want to think about it. It always racked him with a heartache he had never thought possible before, and inevitably led to some big hugs being exchanged because the thought of not being able to see her smile, his little Emma, scared him more than anything.

And if Pitch knew that kind of love too… Then maybe they weren't so different after all.

/|\

Jack Overland had certainly seen better days.

His eyes had gotten to the panda stage by now, outlined by big black shadows and sometimes completely swallowed by them when he couldn't keep his eyes open. His words slurred when he spoke and his hair had lost its springiness. He was weak, and he was running out of ideas.

Still, he drained another cup of coffee at breakfast and ignored the toast lovingly prepared for him by Emma.

She noticed. "What's up?" she pouted, clambering onto his lap and holding his face in her hands. Jack blinked slowly at her, and she examined his face closely. "Wow, you _really _need to sleep," she remarked. "How come you haven't been sleeping?"

"Homework," Jack mumbled lamely, poking Emma's nose. "I'll get there eventually, I promise."

"Good," Emma said, nodding sharply. "I'm worried about you."

Jack smiled and ruffled her hair. "That's not your job. Go make your bed, you're getting pretty good at it."

With a grin, she took off down the corridor. Jack watched her with a smile, and for just a minute he could have almost kidded himself that his life was practically normal.

Then he blinked, and he was lying on the floor with Pitch standing over him.

"She's right, you know," he commented calmly, extending a hand down to help him.

Jack glared at the proffered hand, and accepted reluctantly because as much as it hurt his dignity to admit it, there was no way he would get up by himself. Pitch's skin was cold and hard, like marble.

"We've been over this," Jack mumbled, reaching blindly for his coffee and sliding into a stool. "I'm not sleeping until you're gone."

A smile twitched at the corner of Pitch's mouth. "I may be gone sooner than you think," he said cryptically.

Jack had just enough common sense left to pick up on that. A spark of hope, as well as foreboding. "Yeah?" he asked conversationally. "And where will you go?"

Pitch smirked. "Will you miss me?"

"Not in the slightest," Jack replied lightly. "But I like to keep track of ex-roommates. Where will you go?"

Pitch examined his nails delicately and sniffed. "There are bigger fish in the sea than you, Jack," he said daintily. "And I intend to go fishing."

Ordinarily, Jack probably would have left it there. If there were bigger fish than him then he didn't want to know about it. But because he was tired- more tired than he had ever been in his life- and his mind was wandering down endless winding avenues, he began to wonder just what these fish were, and whether or not he had anything to do with their eventual fates.

He would ask Jamie at school. He just had to stay awake.

**A/N: Friendly reminder that I haven't actually read the books yet. So everything implied here about Pitch's daughter is just stuff I've picked up from tumblr. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong :)**


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh, man. Jack, you _need _to sleep."

"Nnh?" Jack's head tipped back to look up at Jamie. It took him longer than usual to adjust to the light, and longer again to recognize his friend. A half-empty Coke bottle hung limply from one hand. "Oh. Hey, Jamie."

"OK, you are staying at mine tonight," Jamie said firmly, throwing himself down next to Jack and waving the Coke bottle in his face until he drank. "Just for a few nights so you can catch up, we'll figure out some kind of timetable until you get back on track-"

"No," Jack said weakly, pulling himself upright. "M'not leaving him alone with Emma."

Jamie bit back a cry of frustration. "He's left her alone this long!" He grabbed Jack by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Jack, listen to me. If you walk around like a zombie then you're _not gonna be able to help Emma, _Boogeyman or no. So you can quit with the heroics and for _once _put yourself first, because no-one else is going to save her. OK?"

Jack chewed his lip. "I don't trust him," he said finally. "And who's to say he won't follow me to your place this time?"

Jamie fell back on his heels. Jack simply refused to hear reason, so Jamie had to hear _him _out instead. "What's he done?" he asked resignedly. "To make you not trust him. More than you already did, anyway."

"Yesterday. He- I dunno. He just- he told me all this stuff about him and turns out-" Here Jack yawned, his mouth stretching way beyond anything Jamie would have thought possible. "Turns out the reason no-one else can see him is because they don't believe in him. So I guess you were right."

"Huh." Somehow, this didn't ignite the same flame of triumph that it may have three days ago. "Go on."

"And- I think you were right, saying that he's lonely or whatever. Like, I think that's why he's hanging around me, because he has no-one else to talk to. That doesn't justify him," Jack added quickly. "I'm not defending him. It just _is_."

Jamie tried not to smile. "So how come you don't trust him?"

Jack squirmed uncomfortably. "He… he also said something about there being _bigger fish in the sea than me_. What's that supposed to mean? Am I some kind of stepping stone in a master scheme? Because, I mean, if I _am _then I wanna be able to stop him before he does something _really _bad or attack someone else-"

"And you're worried about Emma," Jamie finished.

Jack squeezed his knees. "Yeah. And I'm worried about Emma."

Jamie sighed and rubbed his face. "Look, I get where you're coming from and all, but you've still got to get some sleep. You won't be able to think straight and eventually you'll just keel over anyway."

"Yeah, I know." Jack swilled the Coke bottle contemplatively. "It's just… It's scarier than it was before, you know? The nightmares- up until now, they were just creepy. Creepy, but bearable. But now that I _know _he's there, and he can tap into my fears just like that-" Jack snapped his fingers. "-and I'm scared of what he can do, Jamie."

Jamie's head snapped around to look at his friend. In all the three months they had known each other, Jamie had never seen Jack afraid, much less heard him admit it. Jack was an entity, answerable to no one. Invincible. Whether he was admitting it now because he was truly sleep-deprived or simply needed help, Jamie didn't know. But if it wasn't a game before, then it definitely wasn't now.

"I know," Jamie said eventually. Jack looked miserable. "But you _have _to sleep. Even just once every few days. Promise me."

Jack managed a weak smile. "Promise."

/|\

Going to sleep, it turned out, was much easier in theory than it was in practice.

Even after blacking out four times at school. Even after enduring a thousand nosy comments and a lecture on the importance of sleep and his schoolwork. Even after practically being pulled home by Emma, who was half his size and a quarter of his weight. Even after being thrown sharply down on the couch and instructed not to leave until he had slept, not even to help Emma with her homework.

Lying on that couch, he felt more awake than he had for days.

Pitch hadn't appeared. No snide, shadowy remarks, not even a single eye watched him from the shadows. He knew that this apparent absence should calm him down, make the concept of sleep just that little bit more attractive. But it made him uneasy, like a gazelle about to be attacked by a lion. He _knew _there was something there, but he was powerless to do anything about it. And so he waited.

With a weary sigh of resignation, he reached out and turned the TV on. Emma had never specified that he couldn't watch TV between consciousness and sleep, with the latter being both less likely and inevitable.

_Friends _was on, as per usual. Jack flicked past it dismissively. On Discovery Channel an unfairly big lion was taking down a gazelle. _Not _something he needed to see. Emma's favourite program- _Adventure Time_- was also on, but she was supposed to be doing homework, so he sailed right past that one too. When Emma finished her homework and came to check on him, she found him staring blankly at the television and scrolling non-stop through the channels, like his finger had been glued to the button.

Needless to say, she was not impressed.

"Oh-kay, this has got to stop." She snatched the remote away from Jack's hand- the lion was still gnawing away at his gazelle on Discovery- and Jack blinked as if coming out of a trance, then glared at her.

"I was watching that!"

"You are not watching _anything _until you've had some sleep," Emma said firmly, pushing Jack down into the depths of the sofa by his shoulders, forcing his head into a pillow and clumsily tugging his eyelids shut.

Jack hesitated. "Does this count?"

Emma whacked him upside the head, albeit gently. Jack chuckled to himself, keeping his eyes shut lest she hit him harder. He wondered if he was starting to rub off on her.

If Pitch's fatherly knowledge was anything to go by, then he certainly was.

"Go to sleep," Emma told him gently, and he cracked his eyelids open just enough to see her retreat to her own bedroom.

Once she was gone, he opened his eyes fully and sat up on his elbow. Of course, everything Pitch had said the night before was right, more or less. But it had never really occurred to him that he might actually be a role model for Emma. It just… He'd never thought of it that way. She was his sister, not his _daughter. _No-one had ever… Well, he knew she'd _depended _on him, but it just never struck him that way.

Slowly, reluctantly, he settled back into the chair. Great. First the Boogeyman, now moral issues. He was too young for this stuff.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there for, staring blankly at the television. If you asked him about it now he probably wouldn't remember it. But as the sun sank lower in the sky, so too did his eyelids, and after three long days Jack Overland finally fell asleep.

In the shadows opposite the couch, a pair of yellow eyes appeared.

And they laughed.

/|\

_The cold pierced him like a thousand icy needles, piercing him to the bone. Water rushed into his lungs and through his veins, freezing him slowly from the inside out. One by one his arms and legs and fingers seized up until he could have sworn that he'd never even had any to begin with, that he had always been a speck of consciousness floating in this vast, icy abyss, illuminated only by a silvery light from far, far away._

_Beyond the impounding pressure of the water, the ceiling of ice over his head, he still heard her scream. A scream torn with fear and anguish, begging him to come back. And try as he might, his limbs would not obey him, and he could not swim, and he could only watch and listen in silent despair as the darkness closed around him and she disappeared…_

Jack wasn't breathing when he woke up.


	12. Chapter 12

He rocketed upright, surfacing from the icy nightmare with a gasp and a wild heart rate to match. His whole body trembled: from cold or fear, he didn't know. His chest burned- _how long have I been holding my breath?_- and he breathed every breath like his last.

"Jack…?"

Something small and warm had tumbled onto his lap. Looking down, he saw a groggy and confused Emma, entangled in a blanket that hadn't been there before.

"Emma! Oh, Emma…" Jack flung his arms around her and squeezed her tight, trying to get his heart back to normal. Emma was fine, she was _fine_. Calm down, Jack.

"I'm glad to see you too," Emma mumbled into his neck sleepily. Her body was warm against his, her heartbeat a small, constant flutter. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Jack pulled her away, holding her at arm's length and struggling to remember. He was still disoriented, still confused. All he remembered was…

The water. And losing Emma.

A nightmare.

Jack's grip on Emma tightened involuntarily. There were no coincidences here. If he had had a nightmare, particularly one so specifically targeted at his fear of losing Emma, then there was only one explanation.

"Pitch," he growled.

Emma's eyes widened. "Did you just say the _B-word_?!"

"Wha- No!" Jack looked wildly around the room, distracted. It had been a long time since he had fallen asleep- it was dark outside and his mom was in the kitchen, preparing dinner (which explained the blanket). But no matter where he looked, there was no sign of the Boogeyman.

Speaking of which.

"Emma!" He grabbed her shoulders again tightly, as if he were electrocuted. His eyes were wild and Emma was reasonably surprised and freaked out. "Did you- um, I mean, did you, you know, sleep well?"

Emma shrugged. "Not really," she replied honestly. "I kept having all these weird mini-nightmares, like they weren't really _nightmares _but they weren't really _dreams _and I kept waking up and…"

Emma's words were drowned out then by a furious buzzing in Jack's ears. Hadn't he complained of the very same symptoms for three months before summoning Pitch? Hadn't he suffered the same endless series of 'mini-nightmares'?

OK, so Pitch had given Jack a pretty nasty nightmare. He could stomach that. Accept it, even. But that he had even _dared _to lay one knobbly finger on his little sister… _That _was too far.

"Jack?" Emma looked at her brother in concern. "Jack, are you-?"

"Fine," he answered tightly, gently brushing her off his lap and storming to his room. "Just fine."

He was going to skin Pitch alive when he found him.

"Jack! Could you give me a hand with the dinner?"

He froze, halfway down the corridor. His fingers twitched, and a tic started beneath his left eye. Didn't she understand that there were more important matters to attend to? Emma was in _danger_. Maybe not physical danger, but danger nonetheless, and Jack would be _damned _if he didn't do everything in his power-

"Jack?"

The Jack in question had to close his eyes and breathe slowly and count to ten before facing his mother. He would never allow himself to snap at her, not even in a crisis like this. Emma was safe for now. Pitch could wait.

It just gave Jack's fury all the more time to bubble over until it would eventually explode- and when it did, he intended on making sure Pitch felt its full effects.

/|\

Despite all his promises to the contrary, Jack didn't sleep that night. In fact, he had been sitting cross-legged on his bed with flashlight in hand for hours, waiting for his mom to go to bed. He didn't trust himself not to shout when the Boogeyman eventually appeared. He didn't want to cause a scene.

His chin rested on his knuckles and his face was as hard as stone, staring blankly at the wall before him. He couldn't remember being this angry in his life, let alone for this long. People had hurt Emma before, sure- playground jerks who thought picking on little kids made them high and mighty, the usual- but this somehow felt more personal. He didn't want to wonder why. He didn't want his conscience to water down his anger. Pitch had crossed the line, and it was only fair to make him suffer for it.

As much as Jack _could _make him suffer, anyway.

Eventually, he heard his mother's light feet padding down the hallway, and then the soft click of her door shutting behind her.

Which was just as well, because Jack had just about reached his limit.

"Pitch!" he hissed. "Pitch Black you had better get your scrawny ass up here _right now _or so help me I'll-"

"You'll what?" He was there, shadow one moment and solid the next. Gone was the pitiful, semi-human being from yesterday: Pitch was an entity now, taunting and fearless. "Throw a torch at me?"

"Don't tempt me," Jack growled, clambering to his feet and shining aforementioned flashlight in Pitch's face. "It'll be the least of your worries if I do."

"But why on earth would you do that?" Pitch asked with mock innocence.

Anger flared in Jack's chest. "You know damn well why," he snarled. "You want to torment me, give me a nightmare or two? _Fine_. But don't you _dare _ever go anywhere _near _my sister again or I swear to God I will tear you apart."

He glowered at Pitch; his taunting calmness didn't waver in the slightest.

"Hit a soft spot, did I?" he said softly. "Going after dear little Emma like that?"

Jack lost it. He hurled the torch at Pitch's head, but he dodged it easily. "You _know _you did, that's why you did it!" he said in a strangled whisper, forcing himself to keep his voice down. "That was why you gave me the nightmare, because you're the kind of twisted sicko who _likes _messing with people's heads and tormenting little kids! Because you _know _that's what I'm scared of, and you think it's funny!"

Pitch just examined his nails dismissively and tried not to smile. He was winding Jack up, he knew, but he didn't care. He was pissed off, more than he ever had been in his life.

"Why are you doing it?" he demanded. "You've got me, isn't that enough? Why do you need to go after her?"

"Really, Jack," Pitch tutted. "What do you think is more rewarding to me?"

With a wave of his hand he conjured two dusky silhouettes, a tall skinny boy holding hands with a much smaller girl. Jack and Emma, without a doubt.

"The fear of an adult?" With a light tap of one long forefinger, Pitch disintegrated the Jack figure. Emma stood alone in his hand. "Or the fear of a child?"

He closed his fingers around the nightmare Emma and crushed her in his palm, throwing the leftover sand into the air over his head like confetti. Jack gave a strangled cry of anger, and Pitch glanced at him over his shoulder.

"I told you there were bigger fish in the sea, Jack," he said fiercely. "And I intend to go fishing until there is _nothing left._"

Jack's heart plummeted to his stomach. "What is _wrong _with you?" he whispered.

"Oh, no, Jack," Pitch laughed darkly. "There's nothing wrong with me. _You're _the one who brought me here. If not for you and your nerdy little friend I might have left you all well alone."

"Well it's just as well I didn't," Jack growled. "Because now that I've found you I will not _rest _until you are gone."

By this point the two were practically nose-to-nose, and even though Pitch stood almost a head over Jack he was not intimidated. He wouldn't be afraid of this man, not anymore.

It was thanks to this proximity that Jack noticed it at all, really. There was a flash in Pitch's eyes, a slight change of expression- _something _that immediately told Jack he didn't have the full picture here. There was something else, and it was bothering Pitch.

"The mini-nightmares," Jack realized. "You could have broken her then and there but you didn't. Why?"

Pitch's mouth tightened, and Jack grinned in triumph. This, at least, was good news- he had some kind of upper hand here.

"But why, why wouldn't you? It's certainly not your conscience- it's not like you _have _one to start with- and it can't have been my nightmares rubbing off on her because they should have been a lot worse than that…"

Jack started pacing, rattling ideas off out loud. Pitch clearly wasn't going to tell him outright, and as good as his intentions were Jamie's research hadn't been particularly helpful thus far. He was on his own.

He tried to think back to his own mini nightmares, before all of this madness. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Three months of strange dreams, and then he had found the cavern and things had immediately gotten worse. Jamie had said something… Something about Pitch becoming fully aware of Jack's presence after that. He would have wanted to get Jack's attention, an incentive to maybe eventually finding and believing in him…

Jack's spine jolted and he straightened. If he were a cartoon a lightbulb would have flashed over his head.

"It's because she doesn't believe in you, isn't it?" he demanded excitedly, marching back towards Pitch. "You can't touch her unless she believes in you."

Pitch sniffed, but made no comment. Jack laughed in delight and clapped his hands.

"Oh, man, I've got you! She doesn't believe in you! She won't! You will _never get to her_-"

"I beg to differ!" Pitch snapped. "You don't know what I can do, Jackson Overland."

"No," Jack agreed, high from his triumph. "But at least Emma will never know either."

Pitch's eyes flashed and somehow he began to grow, towering over Jack, pulling the shadows into his arms. He felt the beginnings of fear take root in his mind. "I've seen your fears, Jack," he hissed. "I know how your mind works. I can break you in a night, send you gibbering to a straitjacket with a snap of my fingers. You know this, you've seen if for yourself and _yet_, there was a time when _you _didn't believe in the Boogeyman either."

Jack shrank back now with the realization that Pitch was right. Hadn't he scoffed when Jamie suggested the Boogeyman as the cause of his sleep troubles? And look how quickly his life had been turned upside down.

Before he could stop it, the fear took hold. Images of Emma, scared and wandering and alone flashed through his mind. Pitch stood over her like some horrible guardian angel, wreathing her in shadows as she tried to run but never fast enough.

"If you think a fool like you and his eight year old sister are going to stop me," Pitch hissed. "Then you've got something else coming."

"Get out," Jack whispered.

Pitch tipped his head back and laughed, and the shadows coiled around him and danced at his arms.

"Get _out!_" Jack scrabbled for the torch and hurled it again at Pitch: it spun through the air, but never connected.

The Boogeyman was gone, but the shadows remained.

His laughter bounced around in Jack's skull for many sleepless hours afterwards.

**A/N: Shit's getting intense :/ **_**Anyway**_**, I've been asked this a few times now and would just like to take this time to say that **_**the Guardians will make an appearance later in the story, as well as an OC of mine because I can OK**_

_**Thank you for reading :)**_


	13. Chapter 13

Jamie waited by Jack's lake impatiently. Jack hadn't been at school all day- at first he had hoped that he was just catching up on his sleep or something- but it was around lunchtime that he got the text.

_lake after school. its really freaking important._

Which made it pretty well clear that Jack's life was by no means back to normal.

Jamie had texted him back four times throughout the day- _what happened? did you sleep? do you need me to bring something? is emma ok?_- but there hadn't been any response. He liked to think that this meant Jack was asleep, but he knew deep down that that was far too much to ask for.

And so he had been waiting, clutching his book to his knees, for the last ten minutes. Considering it was _really freaking important, _Jack was pretty late, and Jamie was getting anxious.

He had only just closed his fingers around the phone in his pocket to call Jack when the boy himself exploded through the tree cover. Jamie shot to his feet, startled.

"Jack!" And then: "You're late."

Jack was distracted: he cast furtive glances all around him, running a hand through his hair so that it stood up on end (more than it usually did, anyway). If he _had _been sleeping, it hadn't done him much good: there were still heavy lines under his eyes and his twitchiness suggested another caffeine overload.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I had to pick up Emma and convince her to stick around the park for a bit. We have to be quick."

"Well then get on with it!" Jamie urged. "What happened? How come you weren't at school?"

"Mum made me stay back," Jack replied hurriedly. "I would've rather taken my chances with school but she wanted me to sleep."

"And did you?"

"Of course not!" Jack snorted. "Look, long story short I dozed off yesterday afternoon. Had a nightmare, woke up, whatever. But turned out Emma had a nightmare too, but not a really bad one, just like the ones I was having before I knew about Pitch and I talked to him and he's after _her _and he wants to hurt her but he can't unless she believes in him-"

"But she doesn't believe in him," Jamie told his friend soothingly. "She's safe."

"I didn't believe in him either!" Jack wailed. "And look where that got me. He's planning something, something big, I _know _he is but I don't know how to stop him and I need your help."

"W-what do you want me to do?" Jamie was scared, and not just for Emma. He had never seen Jack this openly afraid before, and he knew that if something bad happened to Emma- something that Jack could have prevented- it would break him. And that scared him more than anything. "What's your plan?"

Jack shrugged. "I'll do whatever I have to to keep him off her case," he said simply. "If I have to sleep twenty hours a day to keep him busy then I will. I need you to find out if he has any weaknesses, anything at all I could use to stop him."

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. "Jack, you know I couldn't find-"

"Look harder!" Jack snapped. "I can get to him- like, mentally, I guess, but it's gonna take some work, and I don't even know if that'll be enough to scare him off. Please, Jamie."

Jack's brown eyes widened to puppyish proportions, and Jamie relented. He nodded, lips tight. "I'll look into it," he promised, for what felt like the thousandth time that week.

"Jack!" Emma's little voice drifted to them through the trees. "Jack?"

Jack sighed. "Do you have a pair of ice skates I could borrow sometime?"

Jamie blinked. "Uh- uh, yeah, sure, why?"

Jack rubbed his forehead. "I told Emma I was checking this place out for some ice-skating when it freezes over. A surprise, you know. I'll let you know when I need them."

Jamie managed a fleeting grin. "Sure."

Jack smiled wearily at his friend and clapped his shoulder. "Thanks, Jamie."

"Good luck." It felt like a stupid thing to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

Jack sighed, turning back to the trees and Emma's voice. "I'll need it."

He disappeared, and seconds later Emma stopped calling for him. Jamie trudged to the lake's edge and watched his reflection ripple across the surface. He looked tired, he was surprised to notice. He hated himself for it. Jack was the one with the problems, not him.

Then again. Solving those problems was seeming like a harder job than it originally had.

He kicked a stone into the water and started the lonely walk home. It would be a long night.

/|\

As Jamie left the park, the Overland siblings were already well on their way home, hand in hand on the trek to Bentham Street. Jack was distracted, but far from indifferent to his little sister: he indulged her stories, and congratulated her on her wobbly tooth, and agreed to a piggy back when her feet got sore. He was just a little distant about it, was all. Emma didn't mind.

Jack, on the other hand, minded rather a lot. He had practically begged his mother to let him go to school; he didn't want to spend any longer confined in his house than he had to, especially not when he was so tired with a Boogeyman on the prowl. But she refused to back down, and he'd had to content himself with walking Emma to the bus stop and picking her up from school, his excuse for seeing Jamie. He had spent a lot of the time lying on the couch and glaring angrily at the ceiling, or alternatively drinking coffee. He hadn't strayed anywhere near his room.

It was only when they were home again and doing their homework that Jack realized just how weird his life was. Every night he was either having a conversation or waging war with a legendary character, and his family slept through it all. Every day he forced himself to stay awake, and his classmates carried on like nothing was wrong. It had barely been a week and he already felt as if he'd completely forgotten what it meant to have a normal life.

"Do you really want to go back to it?"

Jack sighed. "I was wondering when you'd turn up."

He didn't turn his head and tried not to move his mouth too much when he talked. He didn't need to give Emma any reason to believe in the Boogeyman.

Pitch smirked. "Surely you didn't think you'd be rid of me _that _quickly, dear Jack."

Jack's eye twitched. "I'm not your _dear _anything. Get out of here."

"Make me."

"Believe me, I will."

Silence fell. Threats didn't tend to leave a whole lot of room for civilized conversation.

"You didn't answer my question," Pitch reminded him after a while.

"What question?"

"This _normal life _of yours. If you could, would you go back to it? Would you really want to?"

Jack sighed and closed his eyes. "No," he replied honestly, and turned around.

Pitch was gone.

He sighed again and pressed his forehead against his knuckles. He should have been stressing about _homework_, not the Boogeyman. It was ridiculous and terrifying but all the same, he knew he wouldn't have traded it for his normal routine.

He wished he could have said otherwise.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Wearily tugging it free, he checked the ID.

Jamie.

He fumbled and nearly dropped it in his eagerness to answer.

"Jamie! Hey, Jamie. You found anything?"

Jamie was uncertain. "I dunno, it… It could be nothing, but I was just kind of keeping with the theme of childhood beliefs and I found this thing…"

There was a pause; Jack imagined he was trying to find the right tab on his computer. Eventually, he did.

"They're called the Guardians," he began dubiously. Jack groaned.

"Jamie, I'm _not _hiring some kind of ghost-busting team-"

"It's not that!" Jamie assured him hurriedly. "They're… Where is it… _the significant figures of childhood_. According to this it's their duty to watch over the children of the earth… Protect them, blah blah blah… If the Boogeyman's real, I figure these guys should be too, right?"

Jack felt hope flutter in his heart. This was perfect! If it was their _job _to look after kids then they were bound to watch over Emma, right? Had Jamie been telling this to his face he probably would have hugged him. "Who are they?" he demanded. "How do I find them?"

"Well… I don't think you can _find _them, as such. But if you believe in them, you could probably see them. This is all just going off what we know about Pitch, by the way," he added hurriedly. "Don't take this as gospel or anything."

"Who are they?" Jack pressed.

"Um, well… There's Santa, so I suppose you could stay up Christmas Eve and catch him then…"

"Jamie." Jack's voice hardened with urgency. "I can't wait until Christmas."

"No-one can," Jamie muttered under his breath, a rare moment of sarcasm for him. "I suppose Easter's too far away, then?"

"Way too far."

"OK, Sandman-?"

Jack shook his head. "If he were here we probably wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"That just leaves the Tooth Fairy." Jamie sounded defeated. "But you're gonna need a tooth for that- _obviously_- and- well, to be honest, Jack, I'd be kinda worried if you still had your baby teeth."

"I don't," Jack replied slowly, a smile creeping up his face. "But I know someone who does."

He held the phone away from his ear and shouted down the corridor. "Hey, Emma! How's that tooth coming along?"


	14. Chapter 14

Jack felt like the world's biggest creep.

He had been sitting in this rocking chair for hours, watching a little girl sleep and clutching her newly-removed tooth in his hand. OK, so she was his sister, and the tooth was part of an experiment (of sorts), but that didn't make him feel any better.

To make matters worse, he had to pretend to be asleep without _actually _falling asleep. Pitch hadn't made a single appearance in Emma's room, but following yesterday's couch episode he didn't trust the nightmares to stay confined to his bedroom. Besides, if he fell asleep he'd miss it, and then whose teeth would he use?

In order to keep himself from dozing off he told himself, repeatedly, that the Tooth Fairy was real. After a few hours the mantra faded into the back of his mind and he would have to remember to make himself believe in the Tooth Fairy, just in case. He wasn't sure if that was how belief worked- his belief in Pitch had just kind of _happened, _no mantras or anything. But he couldn't think of anything else, and he was desperate.

It was barely midnight when something happened.

He had kept one eye cracked ever so slightly open, watching the window. It seemed kind of stupid, seeing as it was shut tight against the bitter night air, but weirder things had happened. Jack wanted to see how it all panned out.

It started as a flicker. Jack's first instinct was to sit up and look closer, but he couldn't give himself away. Forcing himself to stay still, he watched the window through his eyelashes.

Whatever it was, it was tiny and fluffy and quick. It darted about the window, trying to find a crack to squeeze through. Nothing. Eventually it gave up and, pointing a very long, sharp beak (_since when did fairies have beaks?_) flew straight at the window glass. Jack winced in spite of himself, preparing for a nasty impact and a fairy-shaped splat on Emma's window.

But the little thing just sailed right through, as if the glass were no more substantial than air. Apparently it was just as surprised as Jack was: hovering in the air, it looked at its hands with a kind of impressed disbelief before remembering there was a job to be done and diving under Emma's pillow.

Jack tucked the tooth away in his pocket and slowly stood. Any second now the fairy would realize that there was no tooth, and reappear out of the other side of the pillow in confusion. If Jack wasn't ready by then, it'd be gone.

He crouched over Emma's head, hands cupped and ready. He prayed she wouldn't wake up.

Right on cue, the fairy reappeared, looking around in bewilderment. Jack lunged, clapping his hands tight shut around it and falling back when it struggled with surprising force. He felt delicate little wings beating against his palms, and wriggled his hands around enough for the fairy to stick its head out.

It wasn't at all what he had been expecting. It couldn't have been much bigger than his pinkie finger, though infinitely more bright and colourful. It was like a hummingbird with dragonfly wings and human eyes, and if he was really honest with himself- kind of cute.

Then it plunged its long beak into his finger.

"Ow- hey! I need to talk to you, will you just- _stop wriggling!_"

He clamped his hands tighter around the fairy, feeling a little mean. Then his finger throbbed and he forgot all about it.

"Are you the Tooth Fairy?" he demanded, and immediately felt stupid for it. Of _course _it was the Tooth Fairy. Not quite the storybook image, but that didn't matter.

Much to his surprise, however, the little bird-thing shook its head, still squirming against his grip. It made a weird jingling noise when it did, like bells.

"Oh. Well then what the hell are you?"

The little fairy paused in its struggling to fix its captor with a look. Capable of sass, apparently.

"Little sister?" Jack tried, unperturbed. The fairy rolled its eyes, trying to tug itself free to little avail. "Employee. Helper!"

The fairy nodded patronizingly. Jack glared, and for no apparent reason it began struggling again, thrashing in Jack's grip and somehow managing to tug his arms this way and that in its efforts to get away.

"Hey- hey! Stop!" Jack forced his arms to be still and brought the fairy around to Emma's content little face. Her mouth hung slightly open, revealing the gaping hole where her tooth had once been.

"You see this little girl?" Jack hissed. "This is my sister, and she is in danger. I need your help, so will you _please _go and get your boss?" He loosened his hands enough to let the fairy drift free, demonstrating his good will. "Or- or just someone taller, would be fine too."

The fairy glared at him before disappearing out of the window again- hopefully to return with one of the Guardians.

Jack collapsed back into his chair with a sigh.

"I think that went rather well," he told the sleeping Emma.

/|\

Abandoning all pretense of sleep- the cat was out of the bag, after all- Jack spent the next hour or so perusing Emma's bookshelf for something good to read. Her entire library consisted of those tiny books that were only five chapters long with really big type. Learners stuff, but it was a nice break from fat volumes of French revolutionaries and all of their many problems.

He leafed through them distractedly, not taking in any one of the words. It turned out he needn't have settled down at all, really; it was barely an hour before the fairy did return with her boss.

The book tumbled from Jack's lap and his jaw dropped. If the little one had been a surprise, the real thing was a downright shock.

The Tooth Fairy- _the _Tooth Fairy- was tall, as tall as any human being. She _was _a human being, more or less. Only covered in feathers with dragonfly wings that buzzed furiously at her shoulder blades. Her eyes were bright pink, outlined by long eyelashes and some kind of pink pigment. Her feathers were bright and shimmering and would have looked far more natural in some sub-tropic rainforest, far away from sleepy Burgess.

Her teeth were pretty damn near perfect, too. She showed them off with a smile.

"Hi, you must be Jack," she said warmly, darting over Emma's bed and shaking Jack's hand enthusiastically, as though they had known each other for ages. "I'm Tooth, you've met Baby Tooth-" Here the 'Baby Tooth' shook its fist angrily at Jack, who grinned back. "It's _so _nice to be here, my friend Sandy will be along in a little while and I'm sure we'll all have a great chat!"

"Sandy…?" Dazed, it took Jack a moment to catch on. Sandy had to be the Sandman. And if Tooth's smile- way too big for her face- and Baby Tooth's savage grin were anything to go by, then…

Then his _little chat _with Sandy was not going to be one he remembered.

"No!" Jack tore away from the Tooth Fairy, who blinked in surprise. "You're not- no, you _can't _knock me out. I need to talk to you, please, it's important."

Tooth flung up the smile again at a moment's notice. "It's been a long night for you, Jack," she said sympathetically. "It's probably best if you just-"

"Why won't you help me?" Jack shouted. Emma stirred, and he forced himself to keep his voice down. "This is your _job! _You're supposed to protect her!"

"Protect her from what?" Tooth flared. "Look, you're very caring, and that's very sweet, but just because she fell and scraped her leg doesn't mean-"

"Do you even care about the kids at all?" Jack demanded. "She's in danger and I've been going _crazy _over the last few months and now that I've finally found someone who can actually _do _something, you won't help us!"

Jack shook his head and walked away, laughing bitterly. Tooth's fists clenched and she closed her eyes, breathing deeply and probably counting to ten in her head until she trusted herself to speak.

"And what," she said slowly. "Is so desperately wrong that you need our help at all?"

"Pitch Black," Jack said flatly.

Tooth's eyes flew open and a fistful of feathers floated down to Emma's bedsheets. Baby Tooth let out a frightened squeak and dived into her mistress' feathers for cover.

"Pitch- Pitch _Black?_"

"Did I stutter?" Jack asked irritably, still waiting for his anger to cool off. "Yes, Pitch Black. The Boogeyman. Whatever you want to call him."

With a weary sigh he threw himself down in the chair, burying his head in his hands. Tooth drifted closer and sat lightly on the edge of Emma's bed.

"Tell me."

Jack glanced up at her, and then the entire story just came pouring out. Everything. From his mini-nightmares all the way up to Emma's, and all of Pitch's plans and even the things he and Jamie had only guessed at. As the story went on, Tooth's eyes grew wider and wider and her jaw all the more slack; more feathers fell loose and collected in a neat pile on the floor.

"This… this is very bad," she said, when he had stopped.

Jack snorted. "You're telling me. Is there _anything_ you can do? Any of you?"

"It…" Tooth bit her lip, glancing around her nervously. "I don't know. There's no way we can protect both of you-"

"That doesn't matter," Jack said quickly. "It doesn't matter what happens to me. I can handle it. It's _her _I'm worried about."

He looked at Emma, and Tooth's followed his gaze. She drifted closer, bending her head close to Emma's. The little girl didn't react to being the centre of attention all of a sudden- but, then again, she was asleep.

"Your little sister," Tooth said quietly. "You've looked after her well."

Jack said nothing. Tooth glanced at him.

"She loves you a lot."

"I love her too," Jack said quietly. "I don't care what it takes to save her, I'll do it. I'll do anything."

Tooth chewed her lip and straightened. "We could call Sandy," she said eventually, slow and uncertain.

Jack backed away, shaking his head. "No no no. We _talked _about this, I thought we were having a moment here!"

"Not for you!" Tooth exclaimed hurriedly. "I mean, that's not to say we _can't _help you, or that we wouldn't try to if we could-"

"It doesn't matter." Jack brushed it off brusquely. "What can he do?"

"Watch over her. Keep her safe, give her dreams instead of nightmares." She locked eyes with Jack. "It won't be easy," she warned. "Having the Boogeyman and the Sandman under one roof… Well, it never ends well. For anyone."

"Whatever it takes," Jack said firmly. "Can he- is there any way of defeating Pitch? So he doesn't come back?"

"Not that we know of." Her forehead crinkled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jack."

It was disheartening news, but Jack brushed it off as was his way. "Doesn't matter," he repeated. "We'll move away from here soon enough."

Tooth sighed. "For your sakes, I hope you do."

Gently, she pulled Baby Tooth free of the cluster of feathers around her shoulders. Cupping her little worker in her hands, she whispered instructions into its ear before releasing it once more. With a little salute, it tore off, through the window and into the night.

"She will find the Sandman," Tooth said softly. "I'll wait here with you until he comes."

Jack smiled gratefully at her with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Then: "You know, you're nothing like what the storybooks said."


	15. Chapter 15

The Tooth Fairy, as it turned out, was a pretty nice woman. She chatted animatedly with Jack about school and Emma, and on occasion would gush about her job and her fairies, and how long it had been since she had flown about the human world like this. Even if he barely got a word in edgeways, it was nice. Jack liked her, and minus the fact that she was a bird with a human face and wasn't supposed to exist outside storybooks Jack could almost feel normal talking to her.

You know. Almost.

Eventually, he remembered the tooth in his pocket. When he pulled it out and gave it to her, her eyes lit up with a kind of joy he had never seen before.

"Top right canine, brushed religiously every morning and night- except for one." She glanced slyly at Jack and grinned. "She was running late for school. I wonder how that happened?"

Jack grinned wryly. "Kids, huh?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a streak of gold tear across the sky outside Emma's window. Following his gaze, Tooth turned and straightened as some kind of gold comet criss-crossed the early morning sky, coming closer and closer with each turn.

"Oh!" Tooth said breathlessly. "Sandy's here!"

Jack rose as the Sandman streamed in through the window, wondering what this next Guardian would be like.

If he was expecting a sleepy man in pyjamas, he was sorely disappointed. The figure that stood before him now was a tall girl in a beige-y knitted jumper that was far too big for her, covering a good majority of her black denim shorts and the black leggings underneath. Her honey-streaked hair was pulled back in a messy bun (which was, from what Jack could gather, extremely fashionable) and she looked, for all the world, a normal girl.

Apart from the fact that her skin shone with a soft golden glow and her eyes were a bright topaz and her hair had the same consistency as candy floss and she had just flown in through the window.

Jack glanced uncertainly at Tooth. "I thought you said he was a Sand_man_."

"Sandman's busy right now," the girl sighed theatrically, examining her nails. "You get me instead."

Jack regarded her suspiciously. "And you are…?"

The girl flicked a grain of golden sand out from under her nails and flicked it in Emma's direction. It sailed through the air like an arrow and exploded over Emma's head, falling over her in a shower of golden dust. She snuggled closer into her pillow with a content smile.

Jack watched all of this with a slack jaw; neither Tooth nor the girl regarded it with any amazement.

When Jack turned his head back, he saw the girl holding a hand out to him, lips pursed.

"The Sandman's General," she said with a sniff. "Sandra."

Jack regarded her reluctantly. Barely a minute in, and he already knew he didn't like this girl. But still, it hardly mattered. He had asked for someone to protect Emma, and that was what he had gotten. If she was annoying, he'd just have to deal with it. He'd put up with worse.

He took her hand hesitantly and shook. It was warm and grainy to the touch. "Jack."

Sandra- _the Sandman's General_- glanced at Emma for the first time. She had an odd sunburst pattern around her iris. "I'm guessing this is your sister."

"Yeah." Jack glanced between the two of them apprehensively. "Emma."

Sandra nodded, then shot up with such speed and force that Jack went tumbling backwards. When he clambered to his knees again and looked up, he saw Sandra floating on her stomach over Emma's head, her face bright with adoration. Tooth smothered her smile with an elegant hand.

"God, she's so _cute!_" she cried in a smothered squeal. "And, I mean, what an imagination! No doubt she'll have great dreams without me- oh, but she's adorable! She must get it from you, you're a very attractive family…"

Rubbing the back of his head, Jack cast a questioning glance at Tooth. She grinned.

"She likes to act professional," she explained in a whisper. "But she's really a sweetheart."

Sandra looked up sharply, and noticed Tooth for the first time. "Tooooth!" she squealed, flinging her arms around her feathery neck. Tooth staggered back in the air, laughing as she hugged Sandra back. "I haven't seen you in _ages, _how've you been? How're the fairies?"

"They're good," Tooth said with a laugh. "You should visit sometime."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "I know, I've been trying to but it's just been so _busy_. Humans breed like rabbits, it's crazy- oh, don't tell Bunny I said that."

Tooth grinned. "I won't. But for now you've got a very special job."

"Oh!" Sandra's eyes popped, as if remembering her new duty for the first time. "Right. And- and you should probably get back, too- sorry for holding you up, or whatever-"

"Don't worry about it. Good luck." Tooth locked eyes with Jack. "To both of you."

And she was gone.

Jack teetered on the balls of his heels for a moment, feeling awkward. Sandra had returned to doting over Emma with big, puppy-like eyes and barely acknowledged his presence. For a moment, he hovered between the bed and the door: he had done everything he had come to do; he'd gotten what he wanted. But he felt no desire to go back to his room. Back to the shadows and the nightmares.

And so he stayed.

"Soo… Sandman's General, huh?" he said, returning to the rocking chair. "That must be special."

Sandra glanced up, then snorted and rolled her eyes. "Nah," she said carelessly. "He hasn't got, like, an army, or anything. It's just me."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "That's gotta be lonely."

Sandra shrugged and floated down into a vertical position, resting her chin in her hands. "Not really. I mean, I've got Sandy. He's been like a father to me."

Jack smiled fleetingly, watching Emma's face. "My dad left before Emma was born," he told her. _Why am I telling her this?_

Sandra nodded sympathetically. "I never knew mine either. I don't know anyone, really. Not outside the Guardians."

Jack looked at her questioningly.

"Everyone was someone before they were chosen," she explained. "Including me. I just can't remember who." She sighed, picking at the sleeves of her oversized jumper. "I woke up on a Chicago rooftop one night with no memories. But I knew what I was meant to do, and I found Sandy and I've been with him ever since."

"And how long is that?"

Sandra shrugged. "Oh, about eighty years. Give or take."

Jack almost fell out of his chair. "Eighty- _eighty years?_"

"Well, yeah." She glanced up at Jack's face and grinned. "Come on. How old d'you reckon the others are? Christmas and Easter alone are ancient traditions. I'm like a toddler to them."

"What're they like?" Jack asked eagerly, shuffling forward in his seat. "The Guardians. What do you do?"

"All kinds of stuff," Sandra grinned. "Sandy and I, we split up the time zones between the two of us. Check this out."

Sandra held up a hand and clawed her fingers, and for a moment Jack expected her to summon the same nightmare figures that Pitch did. What she _did _do was more or less the same: a small, spinning sun rose from her palm, woven together with golden dust. With a flick of her wrist she bounced it up over their heads, where it hovered before quietly crumbling away, back into Sandra's outstretched hand.

Jack grinned in amazement. "That's amazing," he breathed.

"You should see what Sandy can do," Sandra gushed. "He can make whole _structures_- eagles, planes, dinosaurs, you name it. The biggest thing I can make is that sun, or a big cloud if I have to. But North's toy shop- man, now _that _is a little kid's dream. If you can imagine it, you can bet your lucky dollar it's there. And Bunny paints the _best _eggs, like- it's amazing, the stuff he does, I wish I had the patience for it. And Tooth's castle is like- it's like this weird holiday resort, but it's so cool and the fairies are so _cute _and- oh, and Sandy and I have an apartment. It's pretty nice."

Jack smiled fleetingly, picking at Emma's blankets. Something was bothering him, about what Sandra had told him about Chicago. "Don't you ever wish you could get your memories back?" he asked quietly.

Sandra's animate face froze, and she glanced down. "Well… sometimes," she admitted. "When I see little kids- when I see people like _you_, with families watching over them… It makes me wonder if I was ever a part of that. I get this weird nostalgia, and I just wish I could go back to…"

_A normal life. _Jack knew the feeling, and he wondered what he would do in her position. Seek out his own memories? Find a way to get back to his home?

If he were an immortal myth, would he want to go back to being human?

"But it doesn't matter," Sandra said suddenly, pulling Jack back to earth. "I like to live in the present. And I like being a Guardian. Which reminds me- what, exactly, am I supposed to do? The debriefing was kind of… Well, brief."

"Uh…" Jack caught himself. What _did _he want Sandra to do? "Well, basically, Pitch lives under my bed-"

"Pitch as in, Pitch _Black?_"

"The very same. Anyway, his lair is under the house and the front door is under my _bed _and ever since I started believing in him he's been giving me hell which was like _whatever _but now he wants Emma and I need to protect her so _basically_-" Jack drew in a deep breath to finish his sentence. "I guess it's just your job now to protect her when I can't."

Their eyes locked. "Is that too much to ask?"

Sandra snorted. "_Please_. I have to send dreams to millions of kids across the world in a single night. I can handle this."

Jack smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

Sandra held his gaze, suddenly serious. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me," Jack said dismissively. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it," Sandra said doubtfully. "You could use some-"

"Sleep? Yeah, I know."

Silence fell. Neither of them moved.

"So. What's highschool like?"

**A/N: IT'S A LONG WEEKEND AND I HAVE A LOT OF SPARE TIME AND NO FRIENDS SO THERE'S GOING TO BE A LOT OF UPDATES OK**

**Also Sandra is mine and if you're really interested (which you're probably not) there are drawings and stuff on my tumblr which is armyjackets OK thanks for reading**


	16. Chapter 16

When Jack and Sandra emerged from Emma's room again early the next morning, he felt it was fair enough to say that they were, in the very least, friends. They had stayed up all night, swapping stories over Emma's sleep, until Jack's eyes felt heavy and they decided the sky was light enough for coffee.

As they padded down the corridor- Jack treading carefully, Sandra gliding carelessly along beside him- she cast a furtive glance at his bedroom door and shivered. Jack remembered Tooth's words from the night before: _having the Boogeyman and the Sandman under one roof… Well. It never ends well. For anyone._

He probably should have thought about the consequences of that before agreeing to this thing.

"D'you think we'll be able to sneak you past him?" he whispered.

"I _think_, and this is just speculation," a dark voice called conversationally from the living room. "That he may already know."

Jack swore under his breath, and he and Sandra emerged into the early dawn light. Pitch stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind his back, but he swung to face them as they stepped forward.

Sandra nodded politely, lips pressed together firmly and shoulders tight. "Pitch."

Pitch saluted her mockingly. "General," he replied jauntily. "I thought I heard a dream."

They'd never met, Jack knew that much; but the rivalry between Boogeyman and Sandman certainly ran deep. It was going to be tough, living with these two.

"I hear you've been causing trouble," Sandra said lightly, drifting towards the mantelpiece and examining the photos. Her fingers danced lightly across the frames.

"That is what I do," Pitch admitted modestly. "How's Guardianship treating you? Oh, but I forgot. You're not really a Guardian at all, are you?"

Sandra's shoulders tightened and Jack glanced between the two of them in confusion. Pitch bared his teeth in a grin.

"You see, dear Jack," he explained earnestly, "I'm afraid your _bodyguard _here is a bit of a sham."

"I'm not a sham," Sandra said fiercely, whirling to face him with her fists clenched as her fury brought her higher into the air.

"She's not _my_ bodyguard," Jack said at the same time. "She's hers."

He pointed down the corridor, and Emma emerged from the shadows, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Sandra dropped to the ground in surprise when she saw her; Pitch's eyebrows shot up. Jack, on the other hand, strode to greet her like a normal brother.

"Whatcha doing up so early?" he asked gently, hefting her up into his arms.

"Heard you talking," she yawned. "Who're you talking to?"

"Myself," Jack answered casually, offloading her at the table, mere feet away from where Pitch stood. "You want some breakfast?"

Emma's eyes shone hopefully. "Pancakes?"

"Eh… Toast?"

Emma stuck out her bottom lip pleadingly. "_Pleeeease?_"

"_Fine!_" Jack sighed theatrically; Emma clapped her hands. On his way to the stove, Jack waved a hand at the slack-jawed Pitch and Sandra. "Oh, please. Don't mind us, do carry on."

Emma looked around in confusion. "Who're you talking to?"

"N… no-one," Jack said, watching Sandra carefully. She noticed, and looked away with a sigh.

"I'm… I'm not _technically _a Guardian," she admitted. "Those rules don't apply to me."

Jack glanced at her, and for a moment he could see that it bothered her. She wanted to be believed in just as much as Pitch did. She wanted to be the kind of hotshot her adoptive father was, powerful and believed in. But she wasn't, and she was aware of that, and she didn't like it.

At the same time, though. Her allegiances were firm. It didn't matter what she did or didn't like. Her eyes hardened and she glared at Pitch.

"But I _am _the Sandman's General," she said pointedly. "And I have a job here."

"Oh, I think you'll find you're quite redundant," Pitch sighed as Jack returned to the kitchen. "I'll get dear sweet Emma to believe in me eventually." He locked eyes with Sandra. "I _will _get her," he said flatly. "And not a one of your sweet little dreams can stop me."

Jack stopped in his tracks, his grip on the saucepan tightening. Emma was watching him with considerable concern now.

"Jack? Are you feeling OK?"

"Fine," he said shortly. "Fine."

"Is that why you're doing this?" Sandra was saying. "To get back at us?"

"The Guardians," Pitch corrected. "Not you. _You, _my dear, are not a Guardian."

"Maybe not," Sandra snarled, stepping forward and facing up to him. "But you're just a bratty little kid picking petty little fights over something that happened a long time ago."

"Family feud?" Jack asked from the stove, hissing when his fingers got in the way of the flame.

"What's family food?" Emma asked. "Are pancakes family food?"

"We are not _family_," Pitch spat at Jack, though his primary focus was still on Sandra.

"Sure thing," Jack told Emma distractedly. Then, to Pitch, "But you did have a family once."

Emma frowned. "I still do."

Sandra blinked: this was evidently news to her. Pitch noticed and snarled, curling his long fingers into a fist.

"Never told you that, did they?" he hissed through his teeth, stalking closer and closer to Sandra. "Never mind Pitch's daughter. He's much too _horrible, _too _awful _to have a daughter. To have loved or been loved by another being. Love is beyond him."

"I never said-"

"No! No-one ever said _anything_, about how she was _taken _from me and I from her by your precious Man in the Moon-"

"Man in the Moon?" Jack piped in.

"Moon's made of cheese," Emma said absently, having given up on trying to keep track of Jack's conversations with himself.

"The man in charge of all of this madness," Pitch spat, waving an absent arm out of the window. "The man who blessed me with this oh-so-fortunate job and recycled good-for-nothings like our dear Sandra here because he couldn't find anything better."

Sandra's fists curled and her cheeks flushed. "Look, Pitch, I'm sorry you drew the short straw here but we are what we are! You've got to get over this at some point, just accept-"

"Accept what? That I'm the bad guy?" Pitch laughed bitterly. "_We are what we are, _indeed. If I am just _bad_, then why do I get blamed for all of these things? Isn't it my _job_, like it's yours to be the good guy and save whiny toddlers like this?"

Now he flung an arm in Emma's direction, who was tracing meaningless patterns in the tabletop, oblivious to the war being waged behind her back.

Sandra was at a loss for words. "Pitch- it's- _someone _had to do it. I'm sorry it had to be you, and I'm sorry about your daughter-"

"Don't give me your sympathies," Pitch spat, turning away from her. "I'm not the only victim here. What about you? Dumped here with no memories, no past, just one big eternal duty and not even a single believer."

This, at least, was something Jack could understand. He had been wondering the same thing before, and when Pitch put it like that… It sounded a lot harsher, but the truth rang out in there somewhere. And Sandra knew it too.

"I don't care," Sandra said, but her resolve was wavering. "I've got the Guardians."

"And me?" Pitch towered over her now, engulfing her in his shadow. "I've got _nothing_. Where North keeps his foul yetis and pathetic elves, and Bunnymund his worthless eggs and Tooth her pesky fairies, and Sandy his whiny, pubescent sidekick, the Moon gives me _nothing_. Nothing but _him_."

He pointed a long finger at Jack, who ducked his head and didn't look. He didn't like being Pitch's only asset. He liked even less to find how much he agreed with the Boogeyman's bitter sentiments. To hear Sandra tell it, the Guardians were heroes; to hear it from Pitch, they were self-important snobs. And the more Jack heard about him, the less he liked this Man in the Moon- it was unfair of him to force one man- a man with a family- into a duty like the Boogeyman and then create a group of more powerful, better-loved entities just to put him down. Taking his daughter (for what purpose, Jack didn't know) and giving everyone else a 'sidekick' except for him felt like rubbing it in Pitch's face.

It was unfair, and Jack didn't like it. But he wouldn't say it out loud.

He thought it was over, then. He was wrong.

"I can read you like a book, Sandra," Pitch hissed, crouching over her. She shrank back, eyes wide with fear. Jack recognized the symptoms. "You're afraid of becoming like me. Alone. Unloved. Unseen. Do you want me to tell you something, General?"

Pitch stooped, so that his lips were at Sandra's ears.

"_You're already me_."

"STOP IT!" Jack threw down the plates he had been holding and glared at Pitch, more steadily and more angrily than he had ever managed before. Sandra whipped around to face him, shocked, her back pressed up against the fireplace; Pitch shrank back from her instantly and watched Jack was raised eyebrows, almost as if he were impressed; Emma screamed and ducked her head under the table instinctively, hands clapped over her ears.

"Leave her alone." Jack's voice was flat, leaving no room for argument.

It took Pitch another moment to recover himself before shrugging and turning away indifferently. "But of course, Master Overland," he said coyly, and vanished into the shadows.

Sandra shakily stood straight, and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Jack."

Jack didn't reply. He may not have agreed with her principles, but he disagreed with Pitch's more. Besides, he couldn't sit back and watch someone else suffer like that. He knew what it felt like, and he wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

Until then, he had a little sister to attend to.

"What are you _doing?_" she wailed as he fished her out from under the table. "You're being so _weird_-"

"I was practicing for a school play," Jack improvised reassuringly. "Auditions soon. Got to get it spot on, thought I'd spring it on you to see what you thought."

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I didn't know you were going in a school play," she said slowly.

Jack winked and tapped her nose. "Gotta keep it a secret. How did I do?"

Emma thought about it. "If you're going for an angry over-protective kind of guy, I think you're doing pretty well."

"Fabulous. Now, how about some pancakes?"

They'd eaten a few too many pancakes, and drunk a few too many coffees (in Jack's case), by the time Mary woke up. By that point, neither Sandra nor Pitch was anywhere to be seen.


	17. Chapter 17

Sandra sat with her chin in her hands, watching Emma drift off to sleep contemplatively. Technically speaking, she could just blast the little girl with some dream sand the moment she closed her eyes, the way she did on her nightly rounds. Sent them to sleep straight away, and gave them longer to appreciate their dreams. But Sandra liked watching kids fall asleep naturally, whenever she could find the time; it calmed her down, to see their faces gradually slacken and their little bodies relax into the warmth of their beds.

Once she was certain Emma was fast asleep, she conjured a small sun and carefully positioned it in the air over the younger Overland's head. The moment she removed her hands, it spun down in a narrow torpedo, straight to Emma's temples until there was nothing left.

In her sleep, Emma smiled.

Sandra's head jerked up when she heard a faint whimper. Fists clenched and ready for a fight, she leapt over Emma's bed and stalked to the door, turning the knob slowly and carefully stepping into the corridor.

It was empty and dark, but as per usual she cast her own glow on her surroundings. Keeping low to the ground like a predator, she padded to Jack's door and pressed her ear against the door. She knew she wouldn't be able to cross the threshold, no more than Pitch could cross Emma's, and so she didn't try.

She didn't need to. After a few seconds' listening, she heard it again: a faint cry, a murmur, a whimper. For the first time in almost a week, Jack Overland was having a proper night's sleep. And Pitch Black wasn't making it any easier for him than he had to.

Sandra's face hardened. She had restrained herself at breakfast that morning; she had stayed in Emma's room and ignored Pitch's presence while the kids were at school. She had held back long enough. _Someone _had to talk to that man.

She knew she wouldn't find him in Jack's bedroom; he was, as she guessed he would be, seated quite comfortably in the living room. At the mouth of the corridor, she crossed her arms over her chest and fell against the wall, watching him critically.

"Are you going to tell him?" she asked eventually.

Pitch's head twitched at her voice, but he didn't give any further reaction. "Tell him what?"

Sandra stood upright and stalked over to him. "The truth."

Pitch smiled wryly. "What truth," he asked, almost rhetorically.

"You know damn well what truth," Sandra snapped.

"I think you'll find," Pitch said delicately. "That what I do or don't tell him is hardly under your jurisdiction."

Sandra bit her lip. The Guardians were governed by rules, and Pitch was no exception to this. In this instance, it was a heartless case of _finders-keepers_: Jack was Pitch's believer and, by extension, Pitch's alone. He could see the other Guardians perfectly, but they could not interfere with Pitch's choices. Hence no threshold-crossing; hence no help for Jack Overland.

But that wasn't all Pitch was hiding from him. Not by far.

"At any rate," Pitch continued, correctly interpreting Sandra's silence as a reluctant agreement to his words. "Don't you have a dreamer you should be looking after?"

Sandra twitched, her every instinct screaming at her that this was a veiled threat, that while she stood here bickering with him something terrible was happening to Emma and she had to go help her. But she held herself back and studied Pitch's face: he was a liar and manipulator. He wanted Sandra out of here, but she wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

"I think _you'll _find," she shot back. "That you can't touch her. Not as long as Jack's around."

Pitch smiled and held his hand up to his face, examining his fingers in the faint starlight. "Not for long."

Sandra's heart skipped a beat. Now _that _was an open threat, and not one that boded well for her new friend. "What are you planning?" she whispered. "What are you going to do to him?"

It wasn't difficult to guess. Situations like this weren't common, but even they had rules of their own. In spite of Pitch's claims, what protected Emma from him wasn't her lack of belief in him; it was, in fact, her Jack's love for her. As long as he sacrificed himself for her, as long as he did everything and anything in his power to protect her- as he had been doing her entire life- Pitch could not harm her. If he wanted to 'claim' Emma for himself that badly, then all he had to do was break Jack's mind in his sleep and get him out of the way forever.

Simple, but effective.

"Oh, nothing drastic," Pitch drawled, weaving the nightmare sand into the two Overland silhouettes once more. "It will be quick. I only need him out of the way for a little while."

Sandra's eyes narrowed. Something like that would require infinitely more planning, more delicacy, more work on Pitch's part. Why was he going through so much trouble if all he had to do was snap his fingers and send Jack away forever?

The realization hit her like a tonne of bricks.

"You care about him."

Pitch's fist closed around the shadow children in his hand and he shot to his feet as if electrocuted, swiftly walking back to the shadows. Sandra followed.

"You do, don't you? It's- it's nothing to be ashamed of!" Sandra cried with a breathy laugh, her face flushed. She had found a spark of goodness in this man! Against all odds, she had proved to herself, if no-one else, that Pitch still had a bit of humanity left in him. _Now _they were getting somewhere. "He's your first believer, it's- it's understandable that-"

"You understand nothing," Pitch spat, whirling around to face her.

"Oh, I think I do," Sandra challenged. "That's why you're out _here_, isn't it? Remote-control nightmares, because _you can't stand to watch him suffer because of you_."

Pitch's shoulders tightened and his fists curled and he towered over her and for a moment Sandra was convinced he was going to eat her; then he gave an annoyed _tch _and shrank back to his normal size, sweeping away from her in stony silence.

"It's my job," he said quietly, and in that moment Sandra saw the bitter father who had lost his daughter, who had been alone, who just wanted recognition. That was why he was causing so much trouble here- he wanted to make an impression. He had found a believer and he knew that this was wrong but what else could he do?

"You don't have to do this," Sandra said softly, daring to follow him into the dark. "You can- you can talk to Manny, I don't know, sort something out-"

Pitch laughed bitterly. "You think he talks to me? Your precious _Manny? _Oh no, my dear. I am an outcast to the very end."

Sandra bit her lip and her forehead crinkled with sympathy. No-one had warned her of this, of these conflicting emotions. For the last eighty years, the only things she had been told to feel about Pitch Black were hatred. The Sandman and the Boogeyman were mortal enemies, and that was all there was to it. No-one had ever mentioned pity, or sorrow, or regret, or longing to change something that had been in place for hundreds, thousands of years.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

Pitch laughed hollowly. "No, you're not. You were raised to hate me, General. Pity doesn't enter in to it."

Sandra blinked. Could he read her mind? _Don't be stupid. _Stupid or not, it didn't change the fact that he was right.

"You live happily," Pitch continued. "With your precious Sandman and your preppy bunch of Guardians. What would you know about being alone?"

Suddenly, a new emotion took hold of Sandra: anger. Anger at his wallowing, at his self-pity, at his constant moping. "More than you'd think," she snapped. "You said it yourself, I'm not a Guardian either! I'm just a sidekick. No believers. Limited powers. And what kind of company do you think the Guardians are, anyway? Busy, busy, always busy. Married to their damn jobs, and what place do you think I have amongst them?"

Sandra had never imagined voicing these long-buried sentiments out loud, and certainly never to the Boogeyman. He looked just as surprised as she did, turning to face her with wide eyes and lifted eyebrows.

"You can play the misunderstood villain as much as you like, Pitch Black," she continued heatedly. "But everyone sees right through you. I do, and I know Jack does too."

Pitch's eyes hardened and he started away again. Relentless, Sandra followed.

"You don't have to do this!" she insisted. "I know- I _know _now, I know you're a good person. You were a father once, don't you remember what it was like? To see your daughter suffer? _Please_, I know you've got it in you somewhere. Just- no!"

The shadows reached in to envelop him, and Sandra lunged after him. Her fist closed around a handful of his robe, and she pulled him back to reality. He looked at her with a mixture of anger, scorn and shock, but she didn't let go.

"Stop this," she whispered.

For a moment, his face softened and he was just a tired old man who had seen too much and gone too far. He gently pulled himself free and retreated, holding her gaze.

"I can't," was all he said before he disappeared completely.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I LIVE! A quick notice that with all of my long weekends/holidays over for the time being, shit's getting busy with school and I don't have as much time for these things as I would like. On the bright side (I think) this means that chapters, though maybe fewer and farther between, will probably get longer from now on. PARTAY!**

Emma's bedroom door exploded inwards and she woke with an abrupt cry. Sandra jerked upright where she sat and pretended not to notice Emma's hand going straight through her head as she flailed wildly in her confusion.

"SNOW DAY!" Jack had crossed the gap from floor to bed in seconds and was jumping impatiently on the mattress as Emma struggled to disentangle herself. "SNOW DAY SNOW DAY SNOW DAAAAY!"

This quickly turned into a screaming contest between the two siblings, each of them battling for place of _most excited. _Sandra winced, shying back uncertainly.

"Don't you think you should keep it down?" she suggested awkwardly. "Your mom's probably still sleeping-"

"Nah, she's already gone to work," Jack said dismissively, standing still in order to address her. "They didn't call it at her school."

He turned back to Emma. "BUT THEY CALLED IT AT OURS!"

By now Emma had struggled to her feet and, hand in hand, the two of them screamed and bounced and danced until the blankets were a tangled mess beneath their feet. Sandra watched on in mystification.

"Called _what _at yours?" she asked, following the ecstatic children down the corridor.

"A snow day!" Jack explained over his shoulder. "It's when-"

"I _know _what a snow day is," Emma snapped impatiently, dragging Jack along behind her. "It's when it snows so hard that they call off school and we get a day to ourselves and it's _awesome._"

"And there you have it," Jack said with a shrug.

By this point, Sandra was too astounded to answer. They had entered the living room, and with the curtains flung back she could finally see exactly what a snow day was.

Of course she had seen snow before. She had seen the world. But a flash storm like this… Sure, the last few days had been cold, but she never would've seen this coming. Everything outside was covered in a blanket of white, dotted by colourful kids running up and down and shrieking in delight. Snowballs sailed through the air; snowmen were painstakingly constructed in almost every yard in sight. She watched it all with a slack jaw, and Jack noticed.

"First snow day?" he asked with a grin, spinning Emma around in circles as he wrapped a scarf around her neck.

"No it's not," Emma giggled, taking off to the kitchen. "I'm having cocoa before we go!"

Sandra snapped back to reality and grinned sheepishly. "Can't remember."

Over the last few days, whenever Jack slipped up and made any accidental reference to Sandra's forgotten past life, he would blanch and hastily apologize and change the subject, ignoring Sandra's insistence that it didn't matter. But today he just grinned and winked.

"Well then we'll have to make this snow day one to remember, won't we?"

With that he swung around on one heel, making his way to the kitchen, but instead walking straight into none other than the Boogeyman himself. Sandra winced internally at the sight of him, but endeavoured to keep a brave face: their conversation four nights ago had done nothing to improve their relationship, nor change Pitch's mind. Jack's sleep remained restless, and Sandra was powerless to do anything but sit back and watch.

"Boo," Jack greeted him cheerfully, and brushed past him.

Sandra's eyebrows shot up. Snow days must have been a pretty big deal if they were enough to get him in that good of a mood.

Pitch sniffed as Jack strode into the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry for cocoa (Emma waited expectantly at the table). "You could catch your death out there, you know."

Jack looked over his shoulder at him with a grin. "Not getting attached to me now, are you?"

Sandra shot a furtive glance at Pitch, but he ignored her. As far as he was concerned, their little _chat _had never happened.

"Hardly," he replied drily. "It's awfully difficult to give someone nightmares when they're dead."

Jack rolled his eyes, pouring milk into a mug. "Oh, ha-ha. _You_, my friend, need to loosen up a little."

Emma looked around curiously. "What's so funny? Why do I need to loosen up?"

"That scarf," Jack improvised, nodding at the fabric wrapped around her neck. "The first time you wore it you almost choked. Here."

The scarf was pretty loose as it was, but Jack just loosened it more. Emma watched him curiously, biting her tongue to keep herself from telling Jack that he was acting weird. She knew that something weird was going on, of course she knew. She just never asked about it because she trusted that Jack would tell her if she needed to know, and she loved him, but one day soon Jack would run out of excuses and then what? He couldn't tell her about Sandra without telling her about Pitch; once she figured out one of them was real she'd be quick enough to find the other. And he couldn't let that happen.

Jack's phone buzzed on the tabletop and he swiped it up smoothly, accepting the call with one hand and jabbing buttons on the microwave with the other.

"Snow day?" It was Jamie, breathless and excited and ready for an adventure.

"Hell yeah it is," Jack grinned, jamming the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tugged a beanie down over Emma's head. Behind him, Sandra and Pitch were bickering. Again.

"_No, _what I _meant _was-"

"Oh, I know what you _meant_. Don't try and fool me, girl-"

"Jack?" Jamie's voice, chirping in his ear. "Did you hear me?"

The microwave beeped from the kitchen. "Cocoa's ready!" Emma sang.

"Jack? Mine or yours?"

"Oh my God, just- Jack, tell him!"

"Are you gonna get it, Jack?"

"No no no, don't go running to _him _for help-"

"Jack, are you-?"

"SHUT UP!"

The Overland kitchen froze and fell silent, save for the insolent microwave that continued beeping merrily away. Pitch and Sandra froze, nose-to-nose with their fingers waving in each other's faces; Emma flinched away from her brother, still unaccustomed to these sudden angry outbursts, and silence crackled down the line.

Jack glared at all of them pointedly. "_Thank _you. I am _trying _to have a conversation."

He stood and lifted the phone to his ear. "Yes?"

There was a moment of silence as Jamie realized that he was allowed to speak now. "Pitch and Sandra?"

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. What were you asking?"

"The snow day. Will we come to yours, or…?"

Jack was sorely tempted to accept Jamie's offer of hospitality and spend the day in his backyard, pretend to be normal again. But he didn't like leaving Sandra and Pitch alone, and he didn't trust them _not _to bring the house down in a case of extended absence. Only yesterday they had come home from school to discover traces of some kind of sand battle; Sandra insisted it had been part of a 'demonstration', but after spending almost an hour cleaning it up before any awkward questions were asked Jack was reluctant to believe her, and even more so to leave them alone in the house together longer than he had to.

"Mine," he sighed eventually. "Bring your sanity, we could use some."

"Sanity. Right. See you soon."

The call was terminated, and Jack retrieved the cocoa for Emma. She avoided his eye when he gave it to her, and he tapped her nose comfortingly.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I can only listen to a few people at a time."

"S'OK," Emma mumbled to her feet. "I'm sorry too."

Jack patted her head and straightened. What he had told her just now was true, but he was getting better at lying to her and evading her. Between getting schoolwork done and trying to sleep and thinking ahead and catering for Boogeyman and Sandman alike, suddenly he just didn't have time for her anymore. He wondered if that was what growing up was like.

He hated it, but this was his chance to turn it around.

"Now come on. Drink that cocoa and let's go have ourselves a snow day."

Emma grinned tentatively over her mug, and Jack grinned back before turning to the glaring legends behind him.

"OK, you two have _got _to sort something out," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth as he strode in between them, on an imaginary quest to retrieve something from the couch.

Sandra pointed at Pitch. "_He _started it!"

"I did not!" Pitch argued, flabbergasted that Sandra would ever say such a thing.

"Uh, yeah you did."

"Did not!"

"Did so."

"Did _not_."

"Oh-kaay, we can drink cocoa outside," Jack murmured to himself, steering Emma away from the kitchen and out the door.

It was cold outside. Which was kind of a given, seeing as it _was _a snow day, but it still sent a shiver rattling down Jack's spine. He tended to dress light for these things: some trackpants, a sweater, a beanie at most. He liked the cold, and he didn't see much fun in a snow day unless you really embraced the _snow _part of it.

Emma, so it turned out, felt the same way. She had barely set her now empty mug down before Jack was smacked in the side of his face by a snowball. The shock of the hit made him gasp, but once he got over it he grinned at her. She giggled, ready to run.

"Why you little-" He pounced, and skidded in the snow as she darted away with a laugh. He staggered to his feet and took off after her again, and this time she was too bogged down in snow to get away: he landed on her back, wrapping his arms around her and rocking himself upright to shove a clumsy handful of snow into her beanie.

"Stop!" she squealed between bouts of giggling. "Jack, stop!"

With an experienced wriggle and a jump, Emma sprang free, flinging a handful of snow over her shoulder as she escaped and splattering Jack's face. When Sandra tentatively joined them five minutes later, they were both bright-faced, soaking wet, and happier than she had ever seen them. She lingered uncertainly in the doorway, eager to get away from Pitch but uncertain if it was her place to join in.

"Think fast!"

She spun around, and was eagerly met by a perfectly sculpted snowball on the nose. She didn't feel the cold, but the hit still sent her stumbling and blinking in an attempt to get the snow out of her eyes. Once she refocused, she saw, not entirely to her surprise, Jack watching her with a grin as he aimed another shot at Emma (currently building up a snow-wall of defence against him).

Sandra laughed darkly, holding Jack's gaze as she stooped to collect her own handful of snow. "_You, _Mister Overland, have made a terrible mistake," she murmured, mostly to herself.

"Bring it on!" a boy further down the street cried. It seemed appropriate.

When the Bennets finally arrived some minutes later, they found themselves in the middle of a battleground. Sophie saw the two Overlands trading blows, and even a few snowballs appearing from thin air and inevitably flying in Jack's direction; Jamie saw Jack and Emma playing with the Sandman's General and the Boogeyman watching silently from the shadows.

A temporary truce was called to greet the newcomers. In contrast to his friend, Jamie was completely wrapped up in layers: Sophie looked like a walking scarf with hair. When he was satisfied that the girls were occupied, Jamie nodded discreetly over Jack's shoulder.

"Is that them?" he asked quietly, and Jack's eyebrows twitched.

"Gee, I don't know," he muttered sarcastically. "Do you see any _other _golden girls and fear freaks on the street?"

Jamie shrugged, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away from Sandra. Without the snowball fight she was awkward and unoccupied, standing alone and fidgety on the battleground. Rolling his eyes, Jack turned and noticed Pitch for the first time, watching the snow day unfold with a sour expression.

"You can talk to them," Jack said after a while, and he could have sworn Jamie's eyes exploded with fireworks. "Well… Maybe just Sandra. But not too much. Don't give them away. Just pretend you're talking to me."

Dazedly, Jamie nodded. Jack rolled his eyes and shook his head with a grin: this was every one of Jamie's dreams finally come true. OK, so Sandra wasn't quite a ghost, but still- he had been right, and he finally got to bask in it. He dragged his friend over, and stood next to Sandra (who ignored Jamie, presuming he couldn't see her).

"Is this Jamie?" she asked Jack.

"Y-yeah," Jamie stammered, and Sandra started.

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "You can see me?" she breathed.

"Yeah!" Jamie nodded emphatically, almost throwing his beanie from his head. "Jack told me all about you- well, actually, _I _told _him _about _you_…"

Jack basically tuned out at this point, and watched Sandra's face. She hadn't exactly been surprised by Jack's belief when they'd met- she'd been briefed on the situation, and it was kind of implied that Jack would be able to see her. He hadn't seen her interact with any other human being, apart from Emma, and that didn't count because that relationship was very one-sided.

This was something quite different. He watched as Sandra struggled to keep her emotions under control: she spoke with exaggerated arm movements and cocked eyebrows and wide eyes and even spoke a little louder than normal. She wasn't accustomed to this. Even after almost a week in the Overland household, she didn't know how to talk to real people. Jamie had taken her off guard, but Jack could see in her eyes- no matter how hard she fought to control it- that even though she was nervous and awkward, she had never been more excited to talk. Not that she could remember, anyway.

Jamie, on the other hand, was oblivious to all of this: he grinned at her with huge eyes, and Jack had to look away to hide a smile. The guy was completely whipped. Sure, she was pretty and all, but she was almost ninety years older than Jamie. And it wasn't like she'd be sticking around for long, not after the Overlands moved to Mary's next college.

The flirt fest was rudely interrupted by a snowball smashing into the side of Jamie's face. Sandra giggled when he overbalanced and toppled over, and Jack whirled around to see Sophie and Emma duck behind a snowdrift, where they doubtless stashed more ammo.

"Oh, it's on," Jack murmured with a grin, stooping to scoop up a fistful of snow and sculpting it in his hands as he dived for cover behind a bush.

Jamie and Jack easily overpowered the girls, and for fairness' sake the battle quickly evolved to a Bennet-versus-Overland war, with Sandra zipping in between and mostly aiming for Jack. Still, Pitch watched, still as a statue and sour-faced.

Jack was surprised. He would have expected a sarcastic comment, a snarky insult, maybe even a petty attempt to throw off his aim by now. Nothing. Not once in all the time that Jack had known him had Pitch been this unresponsive. Which, when you considered the amount of possible nightmare victims currently ripe for the taking on the street, was surprising.

Jack's response to this was certainly not smart, and not even a little bit thought-out. He was high on euphoria, and snow days were _his _days. He was never in his element more than he was on a snow day.

Besides. It was time for the Boogeyman to have some fun for once.

So he threw it. A masterfully sculpted, well-compacted snowball. And it hit Pitch dead on the nose.

Sandra dropped out of the air. Jamie's jaw dropped. Jack grinned.

Pitch started back and blinked, wiping the snow from his face with a dazed hand. His nose twitched and he cast his eye around in confusion for the offender, but there was really no need. Jack's arm was still poised, his mouth still upturned in a challenging, taunting grin. Defiant and daring.

But he just sniffed, the very beginnings of a snarl. And then, in that dry voice Jack had come to know so well, said only, "I hate winter."

Admittedly, Jack was disappointed: he hadn't even _tried _to fight back. He could understand it if he'd been struck down by a terrible daylight nightmare- he probably deserved it, in Pitch's mind- but he couldn't deny that some small part of him hoped that the Boogeyman would just throw another snowball back. He didn't know why it mattered to him so much; it just did.

With this little experiment having failed, Jack turned away, disgruntled and disappointed but not showing it. He would suffer for this later…

With a disapproving sniff, Pitch moved away. To go where, no-one was entirely sure; but he had barely stepped out of the shadows when the little girl from next door staggered through the courtyard and, on a crash course, through Pitch.

He staggered back, holding his chest and looking alarmed. His eyes followed the little girl: brown skin and long, dark hair, laughing, ignorant, oblivious. Something registered in his eyes and, as if in a dream, he started after her, one hand outstretched. When it wavered and slipped straight through her shoulder, he recoiled as if he had been burned, and watched her go numbly.

His eyes flicked up and he saw three pairs of eyes watching him, jaws swinging agape. Sandra and Jamie averted their eyes quickly, shuffling uncomfortably, but Jack held his gaze curiously.

Pitch tried to recover himself: he started to snarl, started to get angry, but couldn't quite manage it. He shrank back into the shadows, and was gone.

Slowly, still registering what he had seen and how he felt about that, Jack turned back to the now still battleground before him, oblivious to Emma's concerned gaze. He glanced at Jamie and Sandra, both of them wide-eyed and as confused as he was.

_What was that all about? _Jamie mouthed.

Jack shrugged and threw a half-hearted snowball. He didn't want to think about it.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack refused to let the snow day lose its charm after that. In spite of Sandra's efforts to the contrary, the Overlands won the snowball fight, and called a truce in order to build the biggest snowman on Bentham Street. Needless to say, it took several hours, and by the time the boys had given up and the girls had declared themselves exhausted it had started snowing again, and they retreated inside for hot chocolate. Jack stoked the fire and when Mary came home they were still there, sleepy and warm and content.

But that had been several hours ago. And now, as Jack slouched at his desk, fighting to stay awake for tradition's sake, Pitch made his first reappearance, silent and forbidding as ever.

Jack felt rather than saw his presence. It was a prickle at the back of his neck, a tingle in his mind. He'd learned not to turn around by now; it was bad enough that the guy was making his few hours of sleep absolute hell for him. Ever since Jack had started sleeping again- or trying to, anyway- it had become a sort of silent agreement to never mention anything about nightmares, if they could get away with it. It made it awkward, which Jack didn't like thinking about. Didn't he _want _to make this uncomfortable? What had happened, between that first meeting and now, to change that?

Ever since Sandra had come, Pitch had seemed like less of a theat. Less important. Between Sandra's watchful eye and Jack's attempts to keep Pitch occupied, Emma was safe; suddenly Jack didn't need to worry about her anymore. Pitch was now little more than a figure of his dreams and shadows. Maybe, if he held out for long enough, he would stop believing in him, and he would disappear altogether and return to his hole in the earth.

Something rolled uncomfortably in Jack's stomach, and no matter how much he told himself to ignore it he couldn't. He wanted that, didn't he? To stop believing? That had been the big goal, from day one. But after seeing his face- after seeing that little girl run through him without a second thought, without a fear in the world, and to see him so obviously distressed by it…

In his frustration, Jack threw his pencil down and swung around a little in his chair. "You've read it before," he observed, still not sparing Pitch a glance.

The Boogeyman started, jerked from his reverie, and looked up from the fat novel clasped in his hands. Out of sheer habit, or maybe just boredom, he had taken to flicking through it every so often. Never from the beginning, just whatever page he happened to open to, and his eyes and fingers would just pass over the words with little to no interest.

It wasn't a difficult leap.

"Eh-"

Jack nodded at the novel. "The book. How does it end?"

Now Pitch's face broke into a nasty little grin, baring his pointy grey teeth. "Everyone dies except for Cosette and Marius."

Jack nodded. "Sounds like your kind of book."

Pitch pursed his lips and set it down on the table. "Hardly. I never liked Eponine, and Valjean is far too _good _for my liking."

"He was a father," Jack said slowly, watching Pitch carefully from the corner of his eye. "From what I hear that's not just a good guy thing."

Pitch's eyes flashed and he glanced at Jack, who didn't waver. With a sigh, the Boogeyman set the book down again on the bedside table and sat on the bed, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. Jack didn't relent.

"What happened to her?"

There was a long pause before Pitch finally answered. Jack guessed the internal battle going on there was similar to his own: did he trust Jack? Why should he tell him anything at all? Weren't they supposed to be enemies?

He also guessed Pitch's answers to these questions were more or less the same as his, too.

"Mother Nature," he sighed eventually. "That was the fate given to her by the Moon."

Jack took a moment to process this. "So your daughter… Is a mother. _The _Mother."

Pitch looked up at him flatly, decidedly unimpressed. "How very mature of you," he remarked drily.

And with that, Jack snorted, tipped his head back and laughed. In spite of all of his better judgement, he _laughed_, and Pitch sighed and rolled, evidently regretting his decision to be honest with Jack (who, to his credit, was trying to get himself under control again).

When Pitch got tired of Jack's immaturity- which didn't take too long- he played his trump card.

"What if it were Emma?"

And Jack fell silent then, his face wiped blank of emotion and dead serious. Pitch was right, of course he was- if Jack were in his shoes he would be pretty miserable about it too.

Still. Pitch didn't have to know that.

"That's low, man," Jack remarked disapprovingly.

"You laughed first," Pitch pointed out.

"Touché." Silence. Jack refused to let the matter drop. "So is that why you hate winter so much? Because it kills the plants?"

Pitch shrugged his thin shoulders and didn't reply. Jack shuffled in his seat, uncertain of where to go from here: did he keep tormenting Pitch about it until he went away, and possibly suffer for it in his sleep? Or did he make a genuine attempt to get to know the guy, maybe form some kind of truce?

It was a game, he realized, and it was every man for himself. Time to learn how to play.

"Don't suppose she'd approve of this," Jack tutted, swiveling in his chair. "I don't think she'd like it one bit, do you?"

Pitch's head snapped up now and he glared. "You don't know her."

Jack fixed him with a critical look. "What kid wants to rock up to Career Day and introduce their daddy as the Boogeyman? Monster under the bed, tormentor of kids since what? 1119? I mean, she can tell everyone that you're the best in the business but let's face it, that's not something she can be _proud _of-"

By now Pitch had shot to his feet and was pacing away impatiently, as if Jack's words were a group of yapping dogs hounding his heels. But Jack wasn't going to let him go that easily.

"What do you two even _talk _about?" Jack wondered, following Pitch across the room. "Is it a tea party or, like, a funeral recep-"

"What would you understand?" Pitch demanded, whirling around to face Jack. "_You _have everything you could possibly want, everything you _need! _No matter where your precious Emma is, you can always protect her. You couldn't even _imagine_-" With an annoyed _tsch_, Pitch gave up and stalked away again, muttering darkly to himself. Jack stayed where he was and watching him stonily.

"I don't have everything," he said flatly. "Mom's never here. Dad never cared. I can't make friends, never mind keeping them. No-one knows I'm here except Emma and Jamie, and now you. Sound familiar?"

Pitch paused and turned to look at Jack, surprise and shock showing on his face. Jack didn't even know where that little speech had come from, or why he felt the need to say out loud now what he had been beating down for years, but he was hardly about to slow down now. Words tumbled out and as he rambled, they gathered heat and speed and he advanced on Pitch, who wasn't entirely sure what was happening.

"And, I mean- will you _stop _feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself?" Jack cried in expaseration. "You're not that only person here with problems! What about Sandra? She can't even _remember _if she had a family- and don't even _start _on the whole _but she has the Guardians _thing," Jack snapped as Pitch opened his mouth. "Yeah, it's unfair, but that's _life_. It's a bitch, and I would have thought that after hanging around for so long you'd be _used_ to it by now!"

Pitch's eye twitched slightly. "Being used to something and liking it aren't the same thing," he said with a measured calm.

"No, but you either pick yourself up and get over it or you curl up in a little ball and stay in a hole in the ground for the rest of your life! It's not- it's not that hard!"

"And which do you think I've been doing?"

Jack faltered, and realized the stupidity of his words. Of course Pitch had been curling up in a ball and living in a hole in the ground- it was the only place _for _him to live. So maybe that wasn't the most convincing argument, but Jack wasn't about to give up his point.

"Maybe your daughter doesn't approve of this Boogeyman thing, maybe she does," he tried again, treading carefully. "It's none of my business, I know. But seriously, Pitch- would she approve of _this?_"

Pitch's eyes met Jack's, and for the briefest of moments he looked like a little kid: lost, confused, heartbroken. The kind of kid who lost his parents in the supermarket and, far from breaking down and having a cry about it, couldn't comprehend why they would leave him, blamed himself for it, wandered the aisles aimlessly until someone noticed him or tried to arrest him for suspicious behaviour. Jack had been that little kid, once. Before Emma was born, and it became his job to look out for someone else.

But he tried not to think about that.

The moment passed: Pitch was his usual, almost unfathomable self, and any sentimentality was, for the moment, wiped from his face. He met Jack's gaze flatly, fearlessly, and pressed his lips firmly together.

End of conversation.

Then again, Jack had never been one for taking subtle hints, which was how, after he had returned to his desk, he picked up the conversation once more.

"Do you get to see her much, then? Holidays?"

There was a pause, and Pitch glanced at Jack with pursed lips over his shoulder. Now he stood at the window, the curtains of which Jack had taken to leaving open: if sunrise could wake him up early enough to escape the full length of a nightmare then he was all for it.

Eventually, Pitch answered. "On occasion," he said tightly, and elaborated no further.

Another thought struck Jack then. "That little girl today- was she…?"

Pitch sighed. "She… resembled Seraphina," he said heavily. "Remarkably."

Jack watched him then, conflicted. It was the usual argument: on one hand, Pitch was a crazed sadistic psychopath who was determined to break Emma, and maybe Jack along the way. On the other hand, he was wounded, jealous, lonely and, above all, pitiful. And no matter how many times Jack told himself to despise the man, he couldn't quite get that thought out of his head.

"It's not fair," he said suddenly, keeping his back to Pitch and pretending to focus on his work. Even so, he could feel the surprised look Pitch shot between his shoulder blades. "They- _he _shouldn't be able to do that to you. Separate you, I mean."

Pitch recovered himself enough to smirk. "I thought I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to deserve any of your pity," he remarked drily.

Jack shrugged. "Two sides, one coin. Or whatever. Either way, you're still the loser and that's just… not fair."

"Yes, well. How did you put it? Life is a bitch. It's my job; someone had to do it."

"Doesn't mean you have to like it."

Pitch watched the back of Jack's head curiously for a moment, a little smile toying with his grey lips. "You sound like her," he commented finally. "Always on about how labels don't define you."

"They don't. I mean, they shouldn't." Words were tumbling from Jack's mouth, awkward and uncertain and instinctive. Like comforting someone you didn't know very well. _There, there. It'll be all right. You won't be Boogeyman forever. There, there. _"If you don't want to be the bad guy, then… don't."

It sounded stupid, and they both knew it.

"It's not just a label, Jack," Pitch said heavily, watching the snowy world outside. The snow seemed to muffle all sound from the outside world, and beyond their conversation the room was eerily silent. "From what I've been told, it's my _centre_. What I have to do."

"Goodness and badness isn't programmed inside of us," Jack said, surprising himself yet again. Jackson Overland, philosopher. Who'd have thought? "You do or you don't. It's up to you."

"You, perhaps," Pitch snorted half-heartedly. "Not me."

Jack considered this for a moment. "You should, like, go on strike, or something," he said after a while. "See what they do."

Pitch managed a short, quiet chuckle, but his heart wasn't in it. "No-one would notice."

Finally, Jack turned to face him, but the Boogeyman was nowhere to be seen, not a sliver of him remaining in even the darkest shadows.

Not that it was of much comfort to Jack. The guy had a habit of springing up when he least expected it.

Chewing his lip and casting his eye around anxiously, Jack stood and moved to the window. The crescent moon above was a silvery slit cut in the fabric of the sky, pinholed with stars; their light reflected off the snow, making Bentham Street resemble something out of a snow globe. He pressed his fingers against the cold glass: mist pooled around where his fingertips brushed against the window. He cast his eye first along the snow, then up the sky and finally settling on the moon. If he tipped his head one way, it looked like a grin; if he tipped it the other, it was a frown.

"You're an asshole," he told it- _him_- frankly, and wondered if he would ever be heard.

There was a quiet chuckle from the darkness, and Jack clambered into bed with the knowledge that even if the Moon didn't hear him, the Boogeyman certainly did.

/|\

The next morning, Jack woke groggy and disoriented. Beside his head, his phone rang out relentlessly, letting him know that it was time to get up and face the day. Outside, Bentham Street seemed to be coming to the same realization: cars started, footsteps crunched in the snow. The city council had done their work over night: for the time being, there would be no snow days.

That wasn't what threw him off, though. What threw him off was his rhythmic heartbeat in his chest, his complete lack of sweat, the fact that his legs weren't caught in an impossible tangle of chaotic bedsheets.

What threw him off was the fact that he didn't have a nightmare to wake him up.

Sitting up slowly, fully aware that this was the kind of sick joke Pitch would play. Maybe Jack had only just fallen asleep, and _this _was the nightmare- this false sense of security, lulling him into a trap that would make abject terror just that little bit scarier. But as he cast his wary eye about the room, muscles tensed, he came to accept that this was reality. Pitch could create a realistic nightmare like it was nobody's business- he was, after all, the Nightmare _King_- but there was a line between dreams and reality, and Jack could feel it. He was awake.

Which meant… Which meant that for the first time in three months, Pitch had left Jack well and truly alone. Which, in its turn, could mean anything.

The continuous buzzing of Jack's phone brought him back to reality: fumbling, he managed to turn the alarm off, before calling one of his two most commonly used numbers.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jack grinned when a groggy Jamie picked up. "Get those gears turning in that weird head of yours. We've had an interesting development."

Jack refused to define exactly what he meant by interesting, largely because he didn't know himself. What he _did _know largely consisted of seriously praying Pitch hadn't overheard that particular conversation.


	20. Chapter 20

Jack and Jamie didn't see each other until recess; by that point, Jack had had enough time to arrange his thoughts, as well as his argument- or so he told himself. Jamie found him pacing back and forth by the dumpster, hood pulled up and hands shoved into his pockets. For now, the snow had stopped falling, but the wind still carried with it a bitter chill that rattled his bones when it swept by. Jack didn't seem to mind, though; he'd always been great at dealing with cold.

Jamie, on the other hand, hopped from foot to foot, unable to see why they couldn't eat inside just this one time. "So, what-?"

"Pitch's daughter became Mother Nature," Jack started straight away. "So that, plus the rejection from the Guardians and all that, has made him bitter. Right?"

"Uh… sure." Jamie settled down uncertainly on top of the dumpster, a small space largely free of snow and slightly warmer than the gravel below.

"But that also makes him a father," Jack continued. "A father who's been separated from his child by a higher power who is fully aware of his presence and ignores him anyway."

Jamie's eyebrows furrowed. "That's not fair."

"No, it's not!" Jack nodded. "And he knows that, hence bitterness, hence why he is the way he is now."

Jamie's eyes narrowed now as he watched his friend, now biting his knuckle as he paced back and forth. "Are you saying-?"

"Not finished yet!" Jamie gestured for his friend to go on. "Thank you. _On the other hand_, I know he's crazy. Like, I've _seen _it, and I know he's trying to get Emma. At the same time, he's not really a threat because now we've got Sandra to take care of her." Here Jack paused and glanced slyly at Jamie. "By the way, when are you two getting married?"

Jamie choked on his soup. Jack smirked and looked away.

"_In short, _Pitch is a bastard but he has a legit excuse for it, and I don't have to worry about him anymore."

Throat burning, Jamie tried to maintain what was left of his dignity. "Does that mean you're not scared of him anymore?"

Jack promptly threw himself down on a small mound of powdery snow, arms crossed across his knees. "I don't know," he admitted. He sounded troubled by it. "He's… well, he's human. You kind of can't _not _feel bad for him."

Now Jamie smirked. "So I was right."

"_No_, you were-"

"I was right!" Jamie crowed, springing from the dumpster to gloat over his friend. "Come on, Jack, admit it- you wouldn't try to get rid of him now if you could."

"Only because of this stupid conscience thing," Jack grumbled. "I'd feel bad if I didn't believe in him."

"You're not supposed to feel bad for him full stop," Jamie teased.

"What's your point?"

Jamie was grinning like a ten year old. "Just that he's grown on you. Hasn't he?"

Jack sniffed and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "He's like a homeless guy," he mused after a while. "A homeless guy who went to college before he lost it all."

The odd analogy gave Jamie pause. "Uh-huh…"

"He's intelligent, intelligent enough to know that he's not going anywhere fast. So he's making the most of what he's going to get," Jack explained. "So you feel sorry for him, because he's got a pretty sucky lot in life, but you also get pissed off at him because he has potential that he's just not using."

Jamie took a moment to process this. "So you _want _him to go after Emma."

"What? No!" Jack's spine jolted upright as if he had been electrocuted. "How could you- no!"

"Well then what do you want him to do?" Jamie challenged, exasperated. "You're sending a lot of mixed messages here."

"Get over himself," Jack relented. "Try and solve the problem instead of moping over it."

Watching his friend carefully and evidently deeming Jack's answer acceptable, Jamie slowly settled back into his seat on the dumpster. "So what's the plan?"

Jack sighed and pressed his forehead into his forearms. "I don't know," he admitted wretchedly. "I can't get rid of him physically, I can't _let _myself get rid of him anyway and he's just _there_."

"You said it before," Jamie said gently. "He's not a problem anymore. Maybe you should just… _Try_, to co-exist. You know, _be the change you want to see in the world_. And all of that stuff."

Jack didn't say anything; Jamie forged on.

"I know you're worried about Emma, but… Well, you two are kind of similar, right? Only in a few ways," Jamie said hurriedly, when Jack's head snapped up to meet his gaze. "You're both kinda, well, lonely, and I think that, maybe, you should let yourself have a friend. Or maybe just be a friend to him, I dunno."

Silence fell between them, and Jack made no move to break it. Jamie chewed his lip and waited for a reaction, but he never got one: the bell rang across the school grounds, and the few children who had dared to brave the cold outdoors began to flood back to the main building. Jamie slid down from his dumpster, but Jack didn't move, much less react to Jamie's voice. Reluctantly, the younger boy left his friend sitting in the snow, hunched and troubled.

Jack barely noticed when the first flakes of snow began to fall.

/|\

He had gotten a detention for coming late to English. His mom wouldn't be pleased, but it wouldn't be the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. Besides, he had more important things to think about, and it wasn't like anyone else would really notice. He slid between classes like a ghost, sitting in his back corner, hood up and head down, pretending to work and for the first time, relishing in his invisibility.

Jamie's last words rang clear in his ears. _I know you're worried about Emma… You two are kind of similar… let yourself have a friend… be a friend to him… I dunno. _The indecision of it all tore at him the most, echoing the summary of all of his emotions. _I dunno_. Did he want to get rid of Pitch? _I dunno. _Should he still at least _try_ to get rid of Pitch? _I dunno. _Where did his priorities lie? _I dunno._

Emma. Emma had _always _been his priority, always. That was how it should have been and _yet_… For the first time, Jack was wondering if he should put his own happiness before his sister's- or, worse still, Pitch's happiness. He still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the Boogeyman- his presence hardly gave him the sense of security he should have felt around a friend, but if he _didn't _trust him then why did they divulge so much to each other? Jack was certain that Pitch had never talked with another human being as much as he had talked with Jack, and vice versa. Why did he feel the need to tell Pitch all of the things he had kept bottled up for years? Because Pitch, in turn, had no-one else to tell? That was one thing about being 'friends' with the Boogeyman- you could tell him anything you liked and he would still have no-one else to betray you to.

Furthermore, it wasn't like Jack could exactly hide anything from him. Pitch could read him like a book, had seen him in his darkest hours. And, as Jack was beginning to learn, in every fear was buried a tiny grain of truth. And it just so happened that the more tired Jack was, the more he talked. Whether or not that had been manipulation or just chance, he didn't know; only that things had certainly changed between the two of them. Knowing your enemy may have been a valuable strategy, but Jack was failing to see how it was an advantage: it just made it harder to attack when you knew what a wreck your enemy really was.

It was a game, he had thought. Last night, _he _had tried to manipulate Pitch, and ultimately succeeded. He had thought that he was playing the game, and that he had the monopoly, but now it was his move and he had no clue what do to. On the one hand, deep in his gut he knew that Jamie was right. That he should make the first step, change the Boogeyman and maybe even the world. Who was to say that in doing so he wouldn't be indirectly protecting Emma? It wasn't entirely impossible.

But his protective, dominative half disagreed. That he shouldn't take the chance, that he should persist in hating Pitch with every bone in his body and do everything he could to ruin his life before the psychopath could even get a chance to ruin Emma's. He remembered feeling that way, sometime not so long ago: but even when he tried to concentrate on it, he couldn't quite visualize it again. Just as he started to put his finger on it, it would slip away, and be gone forever.

As the final bell rang to dismiss the students from another day of boredom, Jack had made up his mind: he would talk to Sandra. She would understand. Maybe she could help.

/|\

"Emma's worried about you," Sandra noted as the Emma in question shuffled down the corridor to her room. Jack sagged against the door as it clicked shut, his head falling back against the wood.

"I know," he said wearily, pushing himself upright after a pause. "Isn't she always?"

He threw himself down at the kitchen bench next to her, sliding his backpack across the benchtop and resting his chin on his folded forearms. His brown eyes were flat and tired, in spite of his previous good night's sleep; his hood was still pulled up over his face. For a moment, the Sandman's General regarded him expectantly; when he didn't react, she leaned far forward enough so that she could see his face. He gazed dead ahead, face set in stone.

"So are you gonna tell me what's up, or…?"

"It's Pitch," Jack groaned, throwing himself upright and tipping his head back.

Sandra felt something ominous stir in her stomach. "What about him?" she asked carefully.

Jack told her the same thing he had told Jamie, though without the previous distracted flair. A day of moral debate had drained him: he rattled the story out flatly, as if reading it from a list. As he went on, Sandra's eyebrows furrowed deeper and her teeth sank further into her lower lip with anxiety. She probably should have seen this coming.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked when he finally finished.

"The eternal question," Jack replied wearily, rubbing his face. "I think… I'm going to do what Jamie said. Be nice, or whatever." He met Sandra's eyes, tinged with more than a hint of desperation. "It could give me the upper hand, right?" he asked, as if he were begging her just to tell him so if only to put his mind at rest. "If- if I can make him feel bad- or, or better, I guess- then maybe he'll leave me and Emma alone. Right?"

Sandra pondered this and chose her next words very, very carefully. "Jack, the thing you have to understand is- first, just know that I do know what you're talking about. Believe me, I've been asking myself the same question ever since I got here."

Nervous laughter bubbled out of her then, and Jack managed a tight smile of gratitude. His eyes didn't lose their desperation, nor their expectancy, however; her uneasy smile faded as she went on.

"_But_. The thing with Pitch is that- I _know _he's been done wrong, and I _know _it's been unfair on him but- _he's the Boogeyman_. This- what he does, it's what he's meant to do. As much as I wish it would, that's not going to change, Jack."

She knew immediately that the words she had chosen had been chosen wrong. Something in Jack's eyes flared and he slowly straightened, looking almost offended. She slid out of her bench seat and, almost subconsciously, fell into a defence position. Ready for anything.

"You don't know that," he snapped defensively. "What's that thing- the butterfly effect? One little thing changes everything? What if- what if _I'm _that little thing? What if someone was just nice to the poor guy for once, it would change _everything_."

"That's all very well, but Pitch isn't- we're not _butterflies_!" Sandra exclaimed. "The world changes, people don't. Especially not _my _people. People like me."

"Guardians, you mean?" Jack snorted. "Pitch Black is many things, but he's not a Guardian. Your Man in the Moon made sure of that."

"I'm not a Guardian either," Sandra pointed out fiercely. "The same rules still apply."

"Could've fooled me," Jack snapped. "Why is it that it's OK for you to- to interfere with kids' dreams but not when he does? Hm?"

"Because-" Sandra spluttered, unable to believe it. "Because he _hurts _them! You've _seen _it, Jack you're- the whole reason I'm _here _is to protect Emma from the same thing!"

"But that's the point," Jack explained, slamming the bench top with his fist. "If I can _change _him then it won't matter!"

"But you _can't _change him," Sandra cried in exasperation. "Jack, please, you have to believe me. He's lying to you, if you just knew-"

"Knew what?" Jack challenged. "If it's so important, just tell me."

Sandra straightened and bit her lip. "I can't," she said shortly.

Jack threw his hands up and walked away. "Then you're just as bad as he is! Useless," he muttered, shaking his head.

Sandra would have plenty of time later to wonder whether or not Jack had meant for her to hear that, or even if he had meant it about her. She would reflect over it many times, but in the heat of the moment she didn't care. Her fingernails dug into her palms and she started after him, having finally snapped.

"If I'm so _useless_," she snarled. "Then what am I still doing here?"

"I dunno!" Jack shouted, turning back around to face her. They stood that way for a few moments, nose to nose, fists clenched, chests heaving. Jack stood a good few inches over Sandra, but where his dark eyes were cold hers blazed with the fire of a thousand suns. It made up for her stature.

Eventually her twin suns dimmed and she stepped back. "I can't tell you what to do," she said quietly with measured calmness. "But _please_, Jack. Don't just run headlong into this. If nothing else, just have a back-up plan."

They held each other's gaze for a moment longer.

"Trust me."

Finally, Jack looked away, almost in disgust; he swiped his bag from the bench and stormed to his room, the slamming of the door echoing through the empty house.

Alone in the living room, Sandra's shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead wearily. How had this happened? One minute she was having the time of her life; now her first human friend in almost a century hated her. She was only trying to protect him, couldn't he see that? It was her _job_…

Shaking her head, she started back down to Emma's room. She had been theorizing over whether or not she could give children daydreams: happy thoughts to occupy Emma's waking hours, given how troubled she was becoming. Jack's blindness wasn't only affecting him.

"Oh, dear," a dark voice tutted from behind. "Did we have a little fight?"

Sandra whirled around, fairy floss hair falling about her shoulders. All of this arguing was making her hair come loose, she'd have to fix that at some point.

For now, she was preoccupied with her anger in seeing Pitch. All day and not a peep out of the man, and now here he sat, hands folded neatly on his lap and looking quite content with his surroundings, sitting on the Overland couch as if he owned it.

She stalked towards him with her fists clenched. "What the _hell _are you playing at, Pitch?" she hissed, eyes once more ablaze.

He met her gaze with a taunting half grin playing across his thin grey lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied lightly.

"Like hell you don't," Sandra spat. "People like you- people like _us _don't change. We are who we are for a reason and you may have been a father once, but you sure as hell aren't now."

"I think you'll find that I am," Pitch replied. There was an edge to his voice as he shuffled in his seat, turning to face Sandra. "The Moon can't alter genetics, dear Sandra."

"Whatever! You know what I mean. The only thing you want here is Emma, and maybe Jack along the way." She stared him down fiercely; he didn't flinch. "And we both know that, so you can quit pretending right now."

Now Pitch smiled: a playful, cunning smile. A smile that had an idea behind it, a thought, a plan. A secret. "Oh, I'm not pretending anymore."

Now panic took hold: whether it had anything to do with Pitch was a mystery, but Sandra could feel it rise in her throat and strangle her, tightening her muscles and quickening her heart. "If you _dare _lay a finger on either of them-"

"You'll what? Give me a dustbath?" Pitch smirked. "Jack is still my believer, _General. _You can do nothing."

"He's trying to _help _you!" Sandra cried, flinging a blind arm down the corridor. "Can't you see that? He wants to be nice, wants to be your _friend_-"

For a moment, Pitch's gaze flitted away, and Sandra remembered her trump card.

"And no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise, there is still some small part- no, some pretty _freaking huge _part of you who wants that too."

"I don't intend on hurting the boy," Pitch said stiffly, turning away with his lips pursed. "If it's friendship he wants it's friendship he'll get, once I'm through."

Even if Pitch had been trying to make himself sound friendly, _once I'm through _had never carried good tidings. For anyone.

"What are you going to do?" Sandra whispered.

Pitch chuckled and swept to his feet, gliding behind the couch until he stood over Sandra once more. His shadow stretched over her and across the floor, and she was surprised to find that it was cold. She hadn't felt cold in eighty years.

"All in good time, little one," he said softly, tapping her nose the same way Jack might have tapped Emma's. "All in good time."

And then he brushed past her, and was gone.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: HAPPY (belated) EASTER, LOVELY READERS! I hope you all had a fantastic holiday with plenty of chocolate- you deserve it, you're all fabulous and I love you but this chapter is really long so please don't hurt me**

Snow continued to fall on and off, but nothing like the onslaught needed for a snow day. Even so, the pile-up was certainly formidable: now, when the city was quietly asleep, the snow sparkled in the light of the moon and stars like its own galaxy, cold and infinite. There was something alluring about it, like a soft fluffy blanket begging to be used after a long, hard day. Gazing absently out the window across Bentham Street, Sandra couldn't help wondering if it was made to be that way. A trap for the weary traveller, to just lay down for a few hours of rest… Only to never wake up.

She shook herself and looked away. She had more important things to worry about than snow. She was starting to grow impatient- and more than a little anxious. It had been a good two hours now and _nothing. _Had she done it right? Sandy had only showed her once, when she had first been brought into his service a good eighty years ago, and she'd never exactly needed to do it before, never had reason to perfect the technique… What if they didn't come? At best, a setback; at worst, a direct threat to Jack and Emma's safety. Worse still- what if they _did _show up, only to be interrupted? _That _was an outright disaster, no matter which way she looked at it.

A distant flash of light and a muffled thump from outside made Sandra jump, whirling around to face the only open window in the room, curtains flung wide open to let in a fat slice of moonbeam- her channel for communicating with them. Heart thumping, Sandra stepped tentatively closer, the silver moonlight bouncing oddly off her golden glow. When she reached the window, she pressed her fingers against the cold glass and cast her eyes up, across the sky…

"BOO!"

Sandra smothered a shriek and whirled around: behind her, a massive man wrapped in a rich red cloak and bedecked with furs howled with laughter. Once she had recovered, Sandra glared and fought to keep her face straight. Nicholas St North- or Santa Claus, whatever you wanted to call him- had a particularly infectious laugh.

"Not funny," she said flatly. Or with as much flatness as she could manage.

North's sharp blue eyes sparkled. "Is a little funny," he prodded, Russia thick in his voice. "Besides, you call me here before Christmas! Big trouble for you, young miss."

He prodded her chest with a fat finger, but he didn't really mean it. Being the youngest Guardian had its perks: if anyone else had summoned North mere weeks before Christmas, they would have been lucky to survive the encounter; Sandra, spoiled like a favourite granddaughter, could have gotten away with murder.

"Who cares?" a careless voice called from beyond, twangy and blunt. "It's only Christmas."

Sandra's face lit up- more so than it usually did, anyway- and North whirled around, dismayed. Leaning casually against the kitchen bench, smirking a strange rabbit smirk, stood none other than E. Aster Bunnymund- more widely recognized as the Easter Bunny. At a proud six feet tall (not including the ears), Bunny was somewhat more formidable than the ordinary garden rabbit; nonetheless, Sandra wasn't fooled. He was a tough nut, sure, but she knew him to be a softy at heart. And he'd never once rejected a good scratch behind the ears.

"_Only _Christmas?" North cried in outrage. "_Only_- my dear Bunny, surely you are off with the fairies!"

"Hey," Tooth chimed in defensively, hovering to the side and issuing rapid commands to the handful of fairies gathered around her.

North paid her little mind. "Christmas is _big _holiday, bigger than _Easter_-"

"Oh yeah?" Bunny stepped forward, twirling a boomerang between his rabbit fingers with a dexterity Sandra had never understood. "I don't see what's so _big _about you shoving yourself down a couple of chimneys. _I _am a master, I actually _do _stuff-"

Sandra rolled her eyes good-naturedly and left them to it. She had learned a very long time ago that the rivalry between the two holiday figures was long standing, and you could either waste your time and energy trying to make them shut up or you could sit back and enjoy the show. She had chosen the latter.

Instead, she addressed her adoptive father, swinging his feet off the bench like a little kid as he casually appraised his surroundings. What had barely been a week felt like forever: even if he never spoke, and had a big job, and could barely reach her knees, he was still her dad, and she missed him as she would miss any biological parent (if, indeed, she could remember them).

His bright eyes settled on her, and his golden face lit up with a massive grin. In spite of her best intentions to stay professional, Sandra's face split into a warm smile and she swept him up into her arms easily, pressing her nose into his spiky hair and feeling, for the first time since her arrival in Burgess, like she was home.

When she set him back down on the bench once more (with as much dignity as possible), she cleared her throat pointedly. Three heads snapped to attention: sheepishly, Tooth hushed her fairies and drifted closer, while North clapped Bunny's furry grey shoulder (confident, as always, that Christmas was indeed better than Easter) and joined the party. Bunny reluctantly followed, glaring at North's back and muttering under his breath.

"Thank you for coming," Sandra began slowly. Considering the amount of time she'd had on her own before this, she really should have planned out some kind of speech. "I know you're all really busy doing your own thing, but this is really important."

For the benefit of an imaginary tape, Sandra re-iterated the very bare essentials of the situation: that Pitch Black lived under the house, that he had claimed Jack as his believer, that he had made very open threats to Emma's safety but his plans were unknown as yet. She left out the matter of his daughter, and of both her and Jack's conflicting feelings over the Boogeyman. She didn't want to make this anymore complicated than it already was.

"Well, you're here to guard the girl," Bunny summarized. "And you've been doing well so far, so I really don't see why you brought us here."

Sandra ignored him and turned to Tooth, purple eyes wide with concern; she had known Jack all too briefly, but she had grown motherly of him, as was her way. "Did you bring them?"

Tooth's eyes flitted about uncertainly. "Well, yes, but it feels… wrong," she confided. "They're private, you know? I'm not really supposed to rifle through them-"

"You're not, really," Sandra assured her friend, grasping her shoulder and feeling almost like a soldier. It struck her that she didn't much like being in charge. "Reminding him of the important things. That's what they're for, right?"

Tooth still looked uncomfortable. "I'm not even sure they'll work," she blurted out. "Seventeen's a little beyond our range, and I don't know-"

"It's worth a shot," Sandra said grimly before turning back to the Guardians to present her case… Only to face the horrible realization that she didn't know what her case _was. _She wanted Pitch gone, true- but what could the Guardians do that she already hadn't? The Guardians were just as ineffectual in stopping Pitch as she was- and there was hardly anything for them to stop in the first place. The Boogeyman hadn't broken any rules. He had no reason to listen to, let alone obey them- how could she have ever thought otherwise? It was a waste of time, and the realization felt like a thousand-pound weight dropped in her stomach. They were useless, absolutely helpless to help Emma, never mind Jack.

With a heavy sigh, Sandra turned to face them. "It's… Bunny, you're right, there's nothing you can…"

She trailed off when she caught sight of the Guardians. The kitchen had fallen deathly silent at some point during her reverie, save for the continuous buzzing of Tooth's hummingbird wings. All eyes were wide with surprise; all spines were ramrod-straight. No-one dared to breathe, as if every one of them had a rifle pointed at their gut.

Following their gaze, Sandra saw exactly why, and reacted much the same way.

"Why is there a kangaroo in my kitchen?" Jack Overland asked, of no-one in particular.

Bunny started in outrage; Sandra winced. Kangaroo jokes never went down well. "Jack, this is-"

"_Kangaroo?_" Bunny advanced on Jack, boomerang ever-ready to wave in someone's face. "Ooh, buddy. You wanna watch what you say there."

Jack glanced at the boomerang, almost cross-eyed. "Ye-es," he said doubtfully, pushing it away lightly with a pale hand. "I feel very threatened."

Bunny's ears quivered with rage. "Listen here, you little smartass-"

"_Jack_," Sandra said again, pointedly, sliding herself between the two of them until Bunny reluctantly returned his boomerang to its holster. Jack smirked, satisfied in having pissed off at least one person. Or rabbit. He clearly wasn't fussed. "This is Bunnymund. The Easter Bunny."

"I thought in Australia they called it the Easter Bilby."

"OK, that's it-"

"This," Sandra went on loudly, gesturing at North and ignoring Bunny pointedly. "Is Nicholas St. North, better known to you as Santa Claus."

A devilish grin lit up Jack's face. "Am I on the Naughty List?" he asked, almost mockingly.

"Naughty List?" North laughed at first; then his face fell flat. "You hold record."

Sandra couldn't help wondering if he was actually being serious; Jack just smirked, like he expected as much. Something about his behavior unsettled her, but she couldn't quite figure out what; watching him carefully, she continued with the introductions. "Tooth, you've met- yes, hello-" When Jack nodded at her, Tooth waved back just a little too enthusiastically. "-and this is my, uh, boss. Sandy. Sandman."

Sandy waved at Jack with a broad smile, and a series of dream-sand images flashed over his head- the exclusive language of the mute Sandman, unintelligible to all but his General. Jack glanced between him and Sandra in confusion; she just shook her head and didn't offer to translate. It was more or less the equivalent of an embarrassing-dad speech, and she didn't need to put Jack through that. Or herself, for that matter.

"Well then," he said, heaving himself up on to the benchtop. Sandra and Sandy exchanged a glance, and she knew they were thinking the same thing: was it worth putting him to sleep? "The Big Four, all in one place. Having a tea party, Sandra?"

He glanced at her pointedly, and she felt her blood run cold. She had figured it out, what bothered her so much about his behavior. Because then, in that one split second, Jack had sounded exactly like Pitch.

The others picked up on it, too: North's bushy eyebrows shot up, Bunny's ears twitched, Sandy and Tooth exchanged a nervous glance. Sandra took a deep breath and smoothed out her shorts. It was showtime.

"Jack, you know…" Words failed her. There was nothing she could say now that she hadn't said before. "You know why we're here," she finished lamely, avoiding his eye.

"Yeah, I do," he said heatedly, sliding off the bench once more and advancing on her. Bunny's paws twitched when he moved. "And _you_ know that I don't want your help!"

"Jack," Tooth said gently. Sandra was glad for her intervention: her throat had closed up, and Jack knew Tooth better than the others. "Pitch is trying to hurt Emma. That's why Sandra's here, to protect her, but she can't protect you too."

"Protect me from what?" Jack demanded. "I've been doing just _fine _on my own, and if you really must know I've slept normally for the last two nights."

With that, his mouth clamped tight shut and his face closed off, flat and impenetrable. He looked almost uncomfortable voicing it out loud, like it was a secret he had been trying to ignore himself.

"He might just be trying to gain your trust," Tooth continued, drifting closer. "You can't trust-"

"Don't start that," Jack warned, stepping smartly away and jabbing a finger in her direction. Tooth faltered. "Didn't _anyone _ever bother to get his side of the story? Did anyone ever consider that maybe he's just… lost?"

"Are you for real?" Bunny demanded, then turned to North. "He's thicker than I thought."

"Watch it, Cottontail."

"Pitch is a manipulator!" Bunny cried in exasperation. "Doesn't matter what sob story he told you- he's got agenda written over every inch of him, and believe you me he'll stick to that agenda no matter what."

"Maybe someone needs to give him a chance," Jack fired back.

Bunny spluttered helplessly. "Are you even listening to us? _He's- a- bad- guy!_"

"He's not," Sandra said suddenly, and all eyes turned to her. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, afraid of what she might see in the shadows. "Not essentially. People aren't just made into good and bad, it's the choices they make that define them." Sandra's eyes lifted and she looked deep into North's crystalline eyes. "But not for us. We are _made_, we're practically programmed by the Man in the Moon. Our purpose- our centres."

North's mouth swung a little agape at his own concept- practically his catchphrase- being turned against him. Sandra shifted her gaze to Jack. "So, no, Pitch isn't a bad guy. Not really. But the Boogeyman is, and that what you've got to worry about now."

Bunny blinked, as if coming out a trance. "I'm sorry, whose side are you on?"

"What's your point?" Jack agreed.

"That you're right!" Sandra cried. "And so are we! Whatever sob story Pitch has told you is probably true, but Jack- you _know _he's a bad guy. Not because he wants to be, just because that's how he _has _to be."

"And whose fault is that?" Jack challenged, gesturing at the window and the moon high above.

"I know it's wrong! I know it's unfair but _that's just how it is and it's not going to change. _Your cause is noble, Jack, but the fear, the nightmares- _that's_ who he is now. And you can't change him."

Jack shook his head, began to retreat into the shadows. "You're wrong."

Finally, _finally_, Sandra exploded. "_Listen to me! _Pitch wants Emma. That is all he's ever wanted, from the very damn beginning- the fear of a child, another believer, more fear to feed off and make him stronger and then what? First Burgess, then the world? You've seen what he can do, you _know. _He has scared you shitless, targeted your every insecurity and vulnerability and exploited it, and you know something? _He enjoys it_. And he will tell you whatever he has to, lie as often as he needs to, if that's what it takes to keep you there. Trapped, and helpless, and with _him_. And once you're gone, you know Emma will follow."

Jack's eyes were wide now, and there was a war behind them. On the losing side was everything he'd been telling himself all day- that Pitch was the victim, that he really wasn't so bad, that Jack could change him. But the winning side… His ever-dominant protective side, kept at bay for so long, suddenly provided an onslaught of images, of memories. His nightmares and the fear they entailed. Glimpses of hate in Pitch's eyes, contempt in his voice, hunger in his gaze whenever it wandered to Emma. Emma, Emma, Emma. Scared and alone, in the dark, shadows preying on her every scream. He felt the cold, heard her sobs, felt the hole in his chest that confirmed that he had lost her. And it was his fault.

Behind her back, unbeknownst to the boy, Tooth clutched a small, if not ornate, marble canister in one hand. In it, every one of Jack's baby teeth was lined up in a neat row and them, all of the memories they contained. Memories of childhood, and of love, and of laughter. Important memories, to be returned if needed.

A crisis, Sandra had said. Jack needed to know, needed to remember. Even if that meant destroying whatever rare thing had grown between boy and Boogeyman.

Tooth squeezed the canister and wondered if she had done the right thing.

When Jack's eyes turned to North- a strangely authoritative figure in crisis, perhaps due to his size- they were hollow and lost and scared. "What can I do?"

North stepped forward, and laid a meaty hand on each of Jack's shoulders. It was an oddly intimate gesture, but somehow Sandra wasn't entirely surprised. There was something about Jack- a particular quality, she hadn't quite put her finger on it- that simply attracted Guardians to him. She wondered if Manny felt it too; she wondered how that boded for Jack's future.

"What you are doing is more than enough," North rumbled cryptically. He was, Sandra realized, referring to Jack's sacrifice and therefore protection of Emma. But Jack couldn't know that; and they couldn't tell him.

"There has to be more," Jack croaked. "I have to save her."

North's eyes were pained; his voice was heavy when he spoke. "Pitch has not threatened us directly," he said regretfully. "We have no fight with him."

Jack pulled himself free, and now he was wide-eyed, panicked, confused. Betrayed. "But Emma," he spluttered. "You- you guys are meant to protect the children…"

Sandy 'spoke' for the first time; Sandra translated uncertainly. "One little girl doesn't compromise us," she read, voice flat. "And Pitch is a difficult enemy to fight."

"_Compromise- _you're kidding," Jack said. Sandra could see where this was going: first confusion, then hurt, now anger. And rightfully so: Sandy hadn't worded that last one very well. "She's _eight_, she is a _child _and you just want to leave her? To fend off that madman by herself?"

"If I remember, you were the one defending that madman just a minute ago," Bunny muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. He may not have liked Jack, but he was right- Emma was a child. The kind of child they were duty-bound to protect, but once again- rules were rules, and they were horrible and harsh and unfair. But they were rules. Pitch was doing what he had to do, what was virtually his right to do. The Guardians had no quarrel with the Boogeyman.

"You are doing brilliantly," Tooth said quickly. "You've done so well on your own, protected her so well-"

"Why are you here?" Jack shouted. "Why did you come if you can't do anything?"

"I called them," Sandra admitted. "I thought they could do something, but we- our hands are tied, Jack. This- what we have now, this is the most we can manage."

It was the nicest way of saying that the Overlands' problem wasn't big enough for them to be pulling out all the stoppers, waging war on the Boogeyman and installing a twenty-four hour guard around 13 Bentham Street. That Christmas was around the corner, and Sandy was stretched without his General, and they had neither the time nor the resources to assist them. That Jack and Emma were, to all extents and purposes, on their own. Because they were very little more than collateral damage. Regrettable, but unavoidable.

Nobody said it, but everyone knew it. Including Jack.

His face became hard, and he nodded once, a harsh movement. "Right. Fine. That's just fine, I never wanted your help anyway."

He turned away; the Guardians watched him in silence, all of them guilty and helpless and bound by their lunar father. Jack understood that. He understood that they truly couldn't help him, no matter how badly they may have wanted to. But that didn't mean he wasn't angry about it.

"Get out."

Sandra stepped forward. "I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly.

"I said get out!" Jack whirled around, a mug in his hand and poised to be thrown-

But there was no-one there. Just like that. The Guardians were gone, along with his last hopes.

Sandra watched Jack's face crumple with hopelessness in confusion. She stepped forward again, waving her arms. "Jack? Jack, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here, with you and Emma-"

She cut off with a heaving gasp when Jack pushed through her, head down and completely oblivious as he forged through his friend. Insubstantial. Unreal.

He didn't believe in her.

She whirled around to face them, the rest of the Guardians, wide-eyed and broken. Pity and sorrow was carved into every one of their faces, even Bunny's.

"What… How…" Sandra's voice was choked and constricted; she could feel sobs building in her throat, cutting her off, warping her voice. "He can't… He can't…"

"He knows we exist," Tooth said quietly, watching him retreat down the corridor to the shadows with an immense sadness. "But he doesn't believe in us. It's not the same thing."

_We let him down, _Sandy said mutely, watching his daughter in concern. _He has lost faith in us._

Sandra wavered on her feet, numb and dazed; she barely managed to collapse in the nearest stool before she caved in completely and sobbed heaving, choking sobs, face buried in the comforting wool of her jumper. Right in front of the Guardians, and probably Pitch as well, she fell apart and she wept.

She wept for Jack and for Emma and for Pitch and for herself. For that week, that one, perfect week where she had _existed_. She wept for her home away from home, for her best friend, for her snow day. For her purpose, for her _real_-ness in being believed in. All of it taken away in a single night, cold and silent and without warning and now she was alone once more.

Alone. Unloved. Unseen. Wasn't that what Pitch had said? About her worst fear? Maybe this was it. Maybe he had somehow managed to give her a nightmare, revenge for all of her prying.

When North bundled her still-sobbing form into the sleigh minutes later, she somehow knew that this was no nightmare. And as they flew over Burgess, silent as the grave, she somehow knew that she would not be returning to 13 Bentham Street.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Sorry about the wait, guys! This chapter took ages to write- it's a bit of a re-write of the Antarctica scene, but I needed to play around with it a lot before I was happy with it… I just really like parallels OK**

Jack trudged back to his room with dragging feet and a heavy heart. He knew what would await him there, he wasn't stupid. If Jack had been roused by raised voices, you could be damn well sure that Pitch knew about it too. He didn't have to check the shadows of the living room to know the Boogeyman bore witness to the whole thing. After all- a stand-off between his only believer and his arch enemies? He'd have been crazy to miss it.

Nonetheless, Jack kept his eyes fixed firmly on his bed when he stomped into his room. He could feel Pitch, see him from the corner of his eye, watching the boy from his hiding place in the shadows next to his desk. In stony, pointed silence, Jack threw himself down and pulled the covers around him tightly. He wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, both of them knew that; but there was no harm in pretending.

"I thought this might happen," Pitch sighed delicately. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the covers ever tighter: Pitch's voice wasn't muffled in the slightest. "I told you what they were. I only wanted to help."

For a moment, Jack hesitated. The Boogeyman's voice was so gentle, so lulling, so genuine, that Jack could almost believe him again. Pitch wanted the best for him, he was just looking out for Jack…

"I know," Pitch said softly, closer now. "I know what they're like."

Jack tried to resist. There was something indistinct and fuzzy lingering at the fringes of his mind, telling him not to listen, that something bad was happening somewhere… Something that his responsibility… He burrowed deeper into his sheets in a weak attempt at escape, but the Boogeyman was unperturbed.

"I understand, Jack."

Jack's eyes flew open and his heart twisted painfully, because in a sickening flash he remembered. His stupidity, his selfishness, his weakness. His total naiveté in accepting Pitch as an ally, as a _friend_. His neglect of Emma, his little sister, his priority.

_No._ Whether for his sake or for Emma's, he would not fall for that trick again. He couldn't.

"You understand nothing," Jack hissed, throwing his blankets away and climbing to his feet. "You're full of bullshit, Boogeyman."

Pitch's fatherly façade fell away in the face of challenge, and he grinned nastily. "And it bothers you," he crooned, dancing around the furious Jack. "Because you fell for it. The mighty Jackson Overland, reduced to this… By the monsters under the bed." He tutted pityingly from somewhere behind Jack; he forced himself not to turn around. "Dear me. Emma wouldn't be impressed."

At the very sound of her name in his mouth, Jack whirled around furiously. Pitch hovered by his bed, grinning wickedly, knowing exactly how to push Jack's buttons and get the best result.

Two could play that game.

"What about your precious Seraphina?" Jack spat. Pitch's face fell. "That's a lie too, isn't it? She's just as scared of you as any other kid- if she even exists!"

"It's not wise to make assumptions about things you know nothing of," Pitch snarled. The shadows around him pricked their metaphorical ears, ready to attack at a moment's notice.

But Jack was too angry to be afraid. "Or what? It's not like she matters to you!"

Pitch's eyes flared. "How _dare _you-"

"How dare _I? You're _the one attacking innocent kids!" Jack cried. "As if you could understand this! Wanting- shit, _needing _to protect someone you love because they can't do it themselves, because you _care _about them and-"

Jack cut off with a strangled cry as he threw himself to the ground, dodging a furious bullet of nightmare sand shot directly at him. When he whirled around again, Pitch was on his feet, and he was mad.

"_Don't _presume to know me, Jackson Overland," he snarled, hurling another blast at him. Jack rolled smartly away, not exactly eager to discover the full nightmarish damage the missiles could inflict. "I may have used you, but I never lied to you."

"How touching," Jack sneered, then ducked when another nightmare flew towards his head.

"You think I don't under_stand?_" _Whoomp._ "What it's like to be _cast out?_" _Whoomp. _"To be _alone?_" _Whoomp_. "To love, be loved?"

Jack rolled to his knees and held up his palms in an defensive gesture; Pitch seemed to deflate a little, his shoulders sagging, his eyes misting over.

"They took her from me," he whispered. "They took _everything_."

Pitch collapsed on the bed once more, head in his hands. Jack straightened slowly, watching with caution. He remembered what Sandra had said, about being bad at the core but not necessarily bad himself; he thought about people with multiple personality disorder, and how the hell you were supposed to deal with people like that.

He shook himself. It wasn't a question. The man on the bed opposite was no longer Pitch Black to him: he was the Boogeyman, and that was all there was to it. The more he thought about it, the weaker he would become, and Emma needed him to be strong. Even if she didn't exactly know it.

"That's very sad," Jack said, doing his level best to sound indifferent. "But it's also not my problem."

Jack turned to the door- maybe to sit with Emma for a while, maybe to find coffee- but Pitch called him back.

"It could be."

He paused, and turned very slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Pitch's eyes lifted to Jack's. "They're drawn to you, the Guardians," he explained. "As am I. You have an air of childishness about you, in spite of your adulthood. That's really all you need to be a Guardian."

Whether or not Pitch had a hand in inducing the fear and panic Jack felt clawing up his throat, no-one would ever know; either way, Jack's mind started putting two and two together, and he looked at the man in front of him with new eyes.

"What if you were me?" Pitch asked softly. "What if they took you away from your precious Emma, never to see her again?"

"Shut up."

"What if you were forced into a job you never wanted for eternity, unseen and unheard by everyone you love-"

"Shut UP!"

Jack grabbed his English novel from his desk and hurled it at Pitch's head. He dodged it easily and regarded the trembling boy across the room coolly.

"I am everything you afraid of becoming," Pitch murmured. "And what scares you about it most is the fact that you know you're capable of it. _They're _capable of pushing you to it."

There was no question as to who _they _were: moonlight danced meaningfully off Pitch's dark pupils.

"No," Jack whispered haggardly. "I'm not- they wouldn't-"

Pitch's eyebrows shot up. "Wouldn't they? They did it to me."

Jack's eyes hardened and he glared. "They're my friends."

"Friends?" Pitch scoffed. He melted into the shadows, circling the boy like a shark. "Friends who won't even help you? Who abandon you in your hour of dire need?"

"It's not their fault," Jack whispered, moving in slow circles in an attempt to catch the Boogeyman.

His sharp profile drifted across a wall; it looked indignant. "Why do you defend them?" he demanded, almost in exasperation. "What have they ever done for you?"

Jack's lips pressed firmly together and he glared, but said nothing. He had no good reason to defend the Guardians; God knew that if he wasn't so preoccupied with Pitch at the moment he would still be fuming about them. But he was more determined to hate Pitch than he was to hate the Guardians: if he had to lie through his teeth to convince Pitch he was pro-Guardian, he would.

Not that it would have made much of a difference. On the wall, Pitch's silhouette paused. Jack felt it the way he always had, a vague shadow winding through his mind, plucking out his secrets one by one. From nowhere, Pitch smirked and his profile slid into the shadows: the game was up.

"All it takes is one seed of bitterness," Pitch's voice crooned from nowhere. Jack whirled around, but there was nothing there. "And an eternity to let it grow."

"I have neither." Jack sounded much stronger than he felt. "Sorry about that."

Pitch snorted. "Don't lie to yourself, Jack. I can see inside your head, I know what's in my heart."

"You don't know anything about me," Jack hissed, shuffling in a circle in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Pitch.

"Of course I do! You're Jack Overland. An outcast, a disappointment, lost and invisible to _everyone _but yourself. You make a mess everywhere you go, you're _me_."

Jack whirled around to see Pitch standing by the door, blocking the only exit, tall, unfathomable and, in this instant… Oddly serene. Almost sympathetic, as he watched Jack chase shadows and drown in his own insecurities.

"But we don't have to be alone, Jack," he said softly. "Think of what we could do together."

Jack faltered, speechless. All of this- everything they had done and said to each other, and Pitch wanted them to join forces? The psychologically damaged boy and his pseudo-nightmare father- a dynamic duo indeed. But what could Jack possibly offer the Boogeyman? How…

His eyes drifted to the moon outside of their own accord, and in that moment he understood.

"No," he gasped, backpedalling until he sat on his bed, and he scooted back still. "I'm not like you."

"You _are_ me," Pitch hissed. "And you'd do anything to protect your sister."

Jack's face hardened as it always did when Pitch played the Emma card. "Somehow I don't think joining you is going to help her."

Pitch's eyebrows twitched and he smirked smugly. "Don't be so sure."

Jack was on his feet again in an instant. "What are you going to do to her?" he snarled, fists clenched by his sides.

"Oh, nothing," Pitch said lightly, brushing lint from his shoulder. Then he met Jack's eyes with a nasty grin. "That is, unless…"

"Unless I join you." Jack fell back to his bed limply, staring at the floor numbly. This was it. He had lost the Guardians, the only possible aid for his sister, but now… He had been given a deal to save her- a sacrifice. Jack's servitude for Emma's safety. He had said it before, hadn't he? He wouldn't trade this for a normal life. And if what Pitch said was true, then he was _meant _for Guardianship. Maybe a partnership with the Boogeyman wasn't quite the same thing, but maybe he could change things. From the inside out, he could rearrange the sick hierarchy the Guardians have, and he could change everything. For the better.

But with the old argument came the old logic: _you can't change the Guardians_. Pitch's wickedness was built in, his humanity part only of some kind of on-off mechanism. And they were the same, Jack couldn't deny it- who was to say that, with the right push, Jack wouldn't morph into a mini-Boogeyman himself? If he did there wouldn't be any coming back.

He would lose Emma. And no matter how much she needed him, he needed her more.

"Tempting, it really is." And Pitch knew it, too: his eyes flashed and a smile crept slowly up his grey lips. Jack let him relish the glory of triumph for a moment before his face fell flat; Pitch's smile vanished. "But not even remotely worth it."

Pitch's face twisted slowly to anger, and Jack bore it calmly. It was a big call, and he knew Pitch had been expecting him to say _yes _without a second thought. Jack had thought the same for a while himself, but if he was going to save Emma he was going to do it himself. After all, who was to say Pitch would stay true to his word? He could have taken Jack's memories, turned Emma into a nameless victim. What if Jack had become responsible for her demise? He wouldn't- he _couldn't _lose himself. Just as much for his sake as for Emma's.

"You have made a foolish choice, Jack Overland," Pitch intoned. "I'm not someone you want as an enemy."

Jack stayed silent; Pitch was right. They were back to square one now, and this time nothing could change that. Whatever bridges they had built between each other had crumbled to a state of utter disrepair. This was officially war, and the last man standing was the winner.

The last man standing got Emma.

He forced himself to meet Pitch's eyes and all the rage and betrayal in them. "Do your worst."

Pitch's face blanked: then he smirked, clicked his fingers and flicked his wrist.

Jack didn't even have a chance to dodge the nightmare before it hit him square in the face.

/|\

_And he was in fifth grade again, and they were living in Los Angeles, and he was being bullied because he was that weird kid with shabby clothes and a baby sister hanging off his arm everywhere he went. He was being bullied because none of the other boys knew how to braid hair, let alone brush it, and none of the other boys knew how to hold a baby properly and feed her and look after her. They wanted to take her away from him and make him into a real man, but what would they know about how to take care of a little girl, they didn't know anything, what would they do to her, what would _she _do without him-_

_And then he was running, screaming for help because he couldn't find her, because someone tall and wicked had taken her but there was someone else, someone taller and bigger, like a mountain with a beard, and he had big blue eyes and a hearty laugh and he could help, of course he could help-_

We have no fight with him.

_And he turned away, and he wouldn't listen. No! Jack shouted. That's not your job, you're supposed to help me-_

_But as Jack's tiny fists hammered his broad back, nothing happened._

_So he ran to her, because she was so beautiful and so right, and she would help, she always helped because she cared about them and he liked her and-_

You've done so well on your own. You've protected her so well.

_And she fluttered away with a second glance. That's not helpful! Jack screamed after her. I've already failed her! I need you, please-_

_He would go to the golden ones, then, they had protected her before, surely they could help him- they were his friends, they looked out for each other-_

One little girl doesn't compromise us. And Pitch is a difficult enemy to fight.

_Twin voices, droning flatly, bouncing around his head as they, too, ignored him stoically. This is what you're made for! Jack sobbed. You're supposed to fight him, I thought you were sworn enemies or something-_

_Fine, he would go to the tall one. The tall one who didn't like him, but he was reassuring and fierce and intimidating, and he must have cared about her deep down somewhere-_

If I remember correctly, you were the one defending that madman just a minute ago.

_I was wrong! Jack screamed. I was wrong and you were right and I've failed her, I'm going to lose her and I'm sorry-_

_But with a tap of his massive feet he was gone, and Jack was alone save for the pair of yellow eyes that watched him with a nasty grin and a terrible laugh to match._

/|\

Jack sat bolt upright with a gasp, chest heaving and covered in a cold sweat.

"That was pretty brutal," he` panted.

Pitch stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight, examining his nails carelessly. "You did say _do your worst,_" he pointed out.

Jack glared at him sidelong. He was little more than a black smudge in the corner of his vision: he didn't have the heart to look him in the eye yet. "Since when was _your wish is my command _a part of this whole thing?" he grumbled.

Pitch grinned nastily, gnashing his pointy teeth together. "It wasn't."

Now Jack turned to face him, but the Boogeyman was gone and he was alone. With a heavy sigh he swung his feet over the side of the bed and ran his hands through his hair, head hanging low.

That had been the worst nightmare by far, but he was trying not to think about it. What bothered him the most was the question of who had had ultimate influence over Jack's dreams- Pitch? Or Jack himself?

He had promised himself that he wouldn't let that _seed of bitterness _plant itself in his heart- but what if it already had?


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Whelp, sorry for the wait… Again… Slight bit of a filler, development and whatnot bUT SHIT'S ABOUT TO GET SERIOUS GUYS HANG ON I WILL DELIVER eventually**

When Jamie found Jack at school the next Monday, he felt like they had gone back in time. Jack's features were ingrained with a sharp scowl under his upturned hood, throwing shadows across his pale face and almost hiding the return of the dark circles under his eyes. His fingers tapped restlessly against his take-out coffee cup; his shoulders were bent forward.

"What happened?" Jamie demanded, hopping from foot to foot before he lost feeling in his toes. The school grounds were, by this point, empty- the only people crazy enough to spend break outside were Jack and, by reluctant extension, Jamie. "You look awful."

"Thanks," Jack quipped. "Had an argument."

Jamie couldn't help snorting. Jack and Pitch had been at peace for so long that he hadn't even considered the possibility of something sending them flying back to square one. "What'd you do? Swap his shampoo?"

"Caught him out, actually," Jack said matter-of-factly, and launched into a proper explanation of what had happened the night before.

Jamie's jaw slackened and his eyes widened almost simultaneously with every detail: Pitch's lies, his attack, his offer to Jack- even the hints he dropped about Guardianship. The Guardians themselves were heroes in Jamie's mind- how could they not be?- but to hear Pitch tell it, they were like greedy kings, wearing the façade of help and godliness. And even if Jamie tried not to believe it, it somehow managed to warp his image of the Guardians into something else. Something darker, something he didn't want to think about.

Furthermore… He didn't like the idea of losing Jack. He'd gone through so many years of being pushed around- for indulging his girly little sister, for lapping up urban myths like gospel truths, even for just not having as much money as the other kids did. Jack was the first person he'd met who _understood _that. Quietly, Jamie had always felt that they were two sides of the same coin: they had both lost their dads, they were both responsible for their little sisters, they even looked kind of similar. Best of all, they balanced each other out: Jack's extroversion and occasional pessimism to Jamie's introversion and optimism. The last three months since the Overland's arrival in Burgess had been some of the most enjoyable of Jamie's life. And if Pitch was right, if for whatever reason Jack _did _become a Guardian… Jamie would lose all of that.

"W-well, that's OK- I mean, it's not, but we've done this before, right?" Jamie stammered once Jack had finished. "We'll figure out how to keep you awake, and-" Jamie breathed out a long sigh of relief when he remembered. "And Sandra's got Emma covered. So we don't need to worry about her."

Jack glanced away when Jamie mentioned the Sandman's General; he shifted uncomfortably. Jamie peered at his friend suspiciously.

"Sandra _is _looking after Emma, isn't she?" he pressed.

"Looks like I pissed everyone off last night," Jack relented, throwing his hands up. Coffee sloshed up and out of the cup, but he didn't seem to notice when it came splashing down on his fingers. "Sandra brought the Guardians to the house last night. All of them."

At first it was a dream come true for Jamie: he listened raptly as Jack shot off brief descriptions of the Guardians, and what they wanted and why they were there. Then he got to the essence of their argument, and Jamie faltered. The shadow that Pitch had cast over the Guardians returned as Jack explained why they couldn't help him, and this time Jamie couldn't shake it off. He liked Emma. She was a good kid, and she was good to Sophie, and you just couldn't help liking the younger Overland. That the Guardians had shrugged her off like collateral damage… Somehow Jamie couldn't forgive that, and he knew that there was no way Jack could ever forgive them either.

But Jamie knew help when he saw it. And that was his job now: to help Jack.

"They shouldn't have done that," he said quietly, sinking down against a wall. "But you said Sandra wanted to stay."

"If she wanted to stay then why didn't she?" Jack demanded bitterly.

Jamie faltered, hurt by his tone. "Maybe it was- you told them to leave. Maybe that's one of their rules, they _had _to go-"

"Shouldn't apply to her," Jack muttered, shaking his head. "She's not even a real _Guardian._"

"Doesn't mean she couldn't do her job," Jamie snapped, probably a little more defensively than he meant to. "Jack, you can't do this on your own. You need to call her back-"

"I can't," Jack answered shortly.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Jack, if this is just a matter of damaged pride-"

"It's not," Jack assured him; for a moment, a playful light returned to his deadened eyes. Then he sighed, and sank down against the brick wall. "I- I had a nightmare, last night."

"So you said."

"I… It was like a metaphor, I think. Pitch- or something like him- had taken Emma, and the Guardians were there, and I went to them for help but they wouldn't come." Jack rubbed his face wearily. "Before I was- well, before I was knocked out, I stood up for them. The Guardians. But, I mean, I was still pissed with them, I just didn't want Pitch to know."

"But he did."

Jack snorted. "'Course he did. He always does. But when he offered the deal, and all that stuff about being a Guardian, it felt like it was either Pitch or the Guardians. Like picking sides. And, I guess, when I said _no_ to him it was like saying _yes_ to the Guardians."

Jamie nodded, then shook his head. "You've lost me."

Jack took a deep breath. "The nightmare was obviously _induced_ by Pitch, but what if it was _influenced _by me? What if that was me trying to bring them back, for Emma, but they just rejected me- like, in real life?"

Jamie shook his head firmly. "No. That was Pitch, that's gotta be him-"

"But what if it's not?" Jack looked Jamie in the eyes. "When Sandra was around, it was like- I _knew_. Even when I was at school, and she was just at home, I'd be in the middle of English thinking about something else but it was a constant- _light_, just there in the back of my mind. That's gone now, I don't think- even if I _wanted _to, I don't think I could get them back."

He paused. There was something else that he wanted to say, but even as Jamie waited nothing happened. He could guess, though: he was just as disturbed by Pitch's talk of Guardianship as Jamie was. Not to mention, Jack had been around Pitch longer than Jamie had: the Boogeyman's ideas of the Guardians were probably far deeper ingrained into Jack's mind than they were in Jamie's. He didn't want anything to do with them- particularly after their refusal to help Emma.

Jamie couldn't blame him. But he couldn't give up either.

"That doesn't mean you can't try," he said tentatively. "Sandra cared about Emma, and maybe with enough time-"

"Don't you _get _it?" Jack demanded, shooting to his feet. "I don't _have _any time! And it's not like- you think Sandman's gonna let her go again? Now that he's got his extra set of hands back, no! She's just a _general._"

He said the word with such disdain that Jamie was on his feet in a second, and he was angry.

"She cared about you," Jamie hissed. "_Both _of you, she wouldn't have wanted to leave you for the _world _and you shouldn't have made her."

"Oh, so it's my fault!"

"Uh, yeah! If you _need _her back- which, if I'm not mistaken, _you do_- she will come, but _no_- you're the great Jackson Overland, and you don't take help from Guardians."

"I can't believe this!" Jack cried. "They- you weren't _there_, Jamie. You wouldn't understand-"

"You're not the only one here with a sister, Jack," Jamie hissed, jabbing a vicious finger in Jack's face. "You don't think I understand?"

"How could you?" Jack snarled. "This is all just a big adventure to you! You're not the one with the monsters under the bed, going _days _without sleep because you're scared of your _pillow _and you can't stop thinking, about how messed up everything is, about how the person you love the most in the entire freaking _world _is being attacked by something _you can't stop_- how the hell can you _possibly _understand?"

"Oh, God, no," Jamie said with a snort. "It's not like I'm your _friend _or anything. You think I haven't been freaking out over this too? How late d'you think _I _stayed up- trying to find help for _you? _And- and did it ever occur to you, that just maybe _I've _been just as terrified as you, wondering if he was gonna come for me- or, even worse, Sophie?No!" Jamie waved his arm wildly when Jack opened his mouth to argue. "You listen to _me _for once. _You're _not the one who's had to watch his _best friend _fall apart for _weeks_, losing sleep because you can't help wondering if you're doing enough when you know what? All I have done for you this _whole time _is give you answers, and solutions, and all you've done is brush them off."

"Emma-"

"Don't you even," Jamie snarled. "You're enjoying this, you want to keep Pitch around because it makes you feel important. More special than the rest of us, because you're getting all the attention you've always craved and of _course _you won't listen to me if that means helping yourself. You're just as bad as Pitch, and you know what? You can go off with him! You can go and be a freaking _Guardian _for all I care, because _Emma deserves better_."

The moment Jamie finished it was like a spell had lifted: the buzzing in his ears faded, and his heart slowed… Only to hollow out and fill itself with lead, dropping all the way to the gravel where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Jack's eyes, tired and confused, had suddenly hardened. He pressed his lips together in a firm line and let his cup drop, crushing the cup with his foot and spraying coffee across the remaining patches of snow. With a final glare- angry, hateful but most of all hurt- he marched away into the flurry of snow falling around them, shoulders hunched and hands jammed in his pockets.

"Jack…" Jamie called after him weakly, but his throat had constricted and the most sound he made was a pathetic croak. All he could do was watch helplessly as Jack faded into the white storm beyond the alley, his heart as cold as his feet.

How could he have _said _that? Jack had said it himself- Emma was the person he loved the most in the world. Emma was _everything _to Jack- his pride and joy, his best friend, his student, his sister. Jamie had known, the minute he saw them together all those months ago, that she was the world to him- but now, all of a sudden he wasn't good enough for her.

It was the worst thing he could have possibly said, and that was why he said it. Because he was trying to hurt his friend. Without even meaning to, Jamie had harboured so much resentment against Jack since the beginning of this thing- he hadn't even realized before it all came pouring out just moments ago. How could he have let that happen? Jack was his best friend, and now Jamie had broken him over a petty feud. Because he was the worst kind of friend there was. Because he was an idiot, and now he was paying for it.

He sank down against a dumpster, pressed his face into his gloves and cried.

/|\

Emma had watched her brother's downward spiral with terrified eyes. He had been like a rollercoaster for the last few weeks, flying from out-of-control energetic to drop-dead exhausted, from happy and cheerful to dark and moody. Emma had asked her mother about it, and she said it was just one of those things that teenagers go through. She hoped it didn't last. She missed her Jack.

Today was one of his grumpy days. He'd had dark circles under his eyes for days, and his feet dragged slightly as they walked home from school, but her main concern rested in his eyes. He looked _furious, _scowling at everything like the world had done him a great personal wrong. She tried to cheer him up by making ultimately terrible jokes about toast and snow, but hardly anything she said elicited a response from him.

By the time they got home, she was a little ball of worry, hurt and uncertainty. When he threw his bag down and rummaged the pantry for the snack Emma had tentatively asked for, she hauled herself up onto the bench and chewed her lip as she watched, wondering what to say.

Eventually, when he silently slid a Nutella sandwich in front of her, she spoke in a very quiet voice. "Jack."

He looked up, and she saw that the anger had faded. Now he just looked lost, and numb, and she felt her heart break as she took his cold cheeks in her little hands and held his face close to hers.

"Jack, what's going on?" she whispered.

His smile was weak. "Just nightmares," he murmured, kissing her forehead. "I'll be fine."

He moved away- probably to make another coffee, which he'd been doing a lot lately- and Emma's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Is that all?" she asked in amazement. "Well, you should come and sleep in _my _bed for a few nights. We can swap- it's actually really weird, every night right before I go to sleep I see this girl, all glowy and dressed up in gold, and she blows me a kiss and I have the _best _dreams- she hasn't been coming for a few nights, though…"

She rattled off, as was her eight-year-old way, oblivious to Jack's reaction. His shoulders tightened and the kettle froze halfway to the cup; a shiver jolted his spine like electricity.

"Tempting, isn't it?" Pitch crooned in his ear. "A few nights of escape. You could use the sleep, you know."

"No," Jack ground out through gritted teeth. The handle of his coffee mug almost snapped off in his grip.

Emma cut off short. "What?"

"No," Jack said loudly. "Thank you, but I should probably- just- stick to my room. Thanks. But."

He didn't turn when he spoke; Emma watched his back, hurt and confused and wondering if she had said something wrong. She was just trying to be _nice_. Why had Jack sounded so angry? What would it take for her to help him, and get him better again?

She ate her sandwich in silence. Jack sat down at the bench behind her, and she spun around to face him, but they didn't speak, much less meet each other's eyes. When Jack thought Emma couldn't see, his eyes would go dark and his stony façade would fall apart and he would look lost and helpless and cold.

But Emma saw. And Emma was scared.

/|\

She tried again perhaps an hour later, when Jack was shut up in his room doing homework. She poked her head around the door cautiously: Jack sat hunched at his desk, glaring at his Maths homework as if he could make it burst into flames with his mind. Emma empathized: she wasn't having much luck getting on with her division, in spite of Jack's best efforts.

He flinched, and Emma shied away: but he wasn't angry at her. His eye twitched and his teeth ground together as if he was under physical strain, as if something was bending over his back and pushing him down, something he wanted desperately to go away…

Emma cleared her throat awkwardly and knocked, because that was the polite thing to do. Jack started; his eyes were wild when they found her. For a moment, she stood paralysed, dimly wondering why this made her so uncomfortable. She'd _never _been uncomfortable around Jack before. The feeling was horrible and unfamiliar and it scared her. _What if she lost him forever?_

It passed in an instant, and Jack's face relaxed into a tired, slightly forced smile. "Hey, kiddo," he said wearily. "Everything OK?"

Emma took a deep breath. _Don't be dumb. It's just Jack. He's my brother. _"I was wondering, because, you know, it's been snowing heaps lately, and I know you're not feeling so great but you love the snow and I thought maybe we could, um, go out and play…?"

She trailed off, wishing she could have been more collected when she spoke, particularly when Jack's face fell and he turned back to his homework, shaking his head so his fringe hung in his eyes.

"Can't," he mumbled, more to his Maths than to his sister. "Work."

"But _why?_" Emma burst out, stumbling closer so that she could wrap her arms around his leg. "You _love _the snow. And work's never stopped you before!"

"Finals," he said shortly, still not sparing her a glance. "Gotta study."

"What's going _on, _Jack?" Emma pleaded desperately. "Why won't you play with me anymore? You've been acting so _weird _lately and I'm- I'm _scared _for you, Jack-"

"No!" Jack finally spun around, and Emma jumped away. There was a hard edge in his voice, one he had never used with her before. She fell back onto her butt, but she barely noticed the impact. Her entire body had gone cold and she couldn't take her eyes off him, wide and terrified and confused.

Jack didn't waver. "Don't _ever _say that," he said hotly. "Don't you ever."

Emma's lips trembled and her mouth swung open uncertainly. _Don't ever say what? _she wanted to ask. _I just wanted to play, you _always _want to play…_

But no words came out, and Jack's gaze remained firm.

"Get out of here," he muttered, turning back to his work. "I need to study."

And he spoke no more. Emma staggered to her feet: she barely stumbled out of Jack's room and into her own before tears started falling, and a heartbroken wail tore through the house.

Jack sighed and buried his head in his hands. He just wanted to _protect _her- how was he supposed to tell her so without putting her in danger?

_That's no excuse for talking to her like that, _he told himself dismally. _Jamie was right, everyone was right- I can't do this…_

Behind him, the shadows took a semi-corporeal form. A man watched, half submerged in blackness, as Jack's fingers knotted behind his head, twining tightly with the dark hair in his anxiety and frustration. Emma's sobs drifted to his ears and very slowly, like a cat that had stumbled upon a nest of sleeping mice, the Boogeyman smiled and vanished into the shadows.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: WOW HI I SUCK WITH UPDATES HUH**

**HERE YOU GO CLIMAX TIME WOOHOO**

It wasn't long after that that Jack had his forehead pressed against Emma's bedroom door. Shortly after his pity party his big brother complex had taken over once again: as he had so often told Emma, there was no point in crying over spilt milk, and he'd made a pretty damn big mess of his. Now the only thing left to do was apologise for the trouble and replace the milk you'd lost. Which he tried to do now.

He rapped a crooked knuckle gently against the wood. "Emma?" he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

There was a muffled thump from the other side. "Go away," Emma mumbled, sounding equal parts scared and angry. Jack was accustomed to angry: it wouldn't be the first time he'd taken a prank too far. But the underlying fear in her cracking voice hurt him.

"Come on, Emma, let me in," Jack pleaded. "I'm sorry I was a d- I'm sorry I was mean before. It's just, I've got a lot going on…" _More than you know._

Emma made no response, and Jack's entire frame collapsed against her door. It was a lame excuse and she knew it, but what else could he tell her? That her almighty big brother was being haunted by monsters under the bed? That depriving himself of sleep was all for her own good, that the sudden disappearance of her golden girl was the result of a late night temper tantrum?

No. That he had a lot going on was much more convenient than that.

"Em?" His voice was soft, but none of the pleading was lost in his tone. "Please, Em. You know I'd never- I didn't mean it, I'd _never _do anything to hurt you."

Still silence. "Please let me in."

Nothing happened. Jack stepped away from the door, suddenly feeling as if he weighed a million pounds. He'd stuffed up before, Emma had been angry at him before, but never like this. She had _always _forgiven him. She had always been… Well, _his. _His little sister, his everything. The closed door seemed so final, so definite, that all of a sudden Jack felt lost.

"Does that mean you don't have to study anymore?"

Jack whirled around, halfway back to his room. Emma stood, small and scared, in her doorway. Her hair hung in her eyes, but when she caught Jack's gaze he couldn't look away.

"Yeah." He was completely breathless, like someone had punched him in the belly, but he wasn't sure why. "I mean- no. No, I don't."

His face broke into a grin then, and Emma smiled tentatively back, rubbing her arms nervously. Everything- her posture, her uncertainty, her awkward smile, felt so unfamiliar to Jack, and it was then that he finally realized. In trying to hard to protect Emma, he had completely forgotten about her.

But this was his chance to make it right.

Like some giant bird of big-brotherhood, Jack swooped down upon her and scooped her into his arms, just like old times. He was dumb, he realized, for thinking she wouldn't forgive him. She was eight. She was eight, and she was good-hearted- what else was she going to do?

She squawked in surprise when he swung her off the ground, but it quickly broke into a giggle. Jack stepped into his second skin like his favourite hoodie.

"So, Princess Emma," he boomed in a comically deep voice, hefting her up onto his shoulders. "Where shall we go next? The mysterious Couch? Or the uncharted Bentham Mountains?"

Emma drummed her hands on his head like an infant who hadn't learned how to move her arms properly yet. "To the mountains!" she bellowed, and Jack charged for the door.

It was freezing outside: the wind bit into his skin, and the bleak grey sky promised more cold to come. But whether it was the weather or the schoolwork that kept the street quiet, Jack would never know- either way, Bentham street was silent as the grave, and not a single child reveled in the snow the way the Overlands did.

Emma clambered down Jack's back like a monkey and crept across their front yard, snow crunching under her feet. "They say this is where the snow giants live," she whispered to Jack.

He snorted confidently. "Oh, _please. _The only person who believes in snow giants is the gullible Sir Jaime!"

"You never know," Emma whispered.

"_I _know every- AHH!" Jack fell face-first in the snow, clawing desperately at the snow as something invisible dragged him away. "Help me!"

"I'll save you!" Emma cried, and came crashing down on the imaginary monster that threatened her older brother. She swung her grand, invisible sword, hacked at the giants prying fingers, and destroyed it with a punch no man could match for force.

"But who will save you?" Jack asked spookily, rising above her with his hands clawed and snow plastered to his clothes and hair. Emma whirled to face him, but she wasn't afraid.

"Bet you can't catch me!" she sang, and darted off around the house.

Jack roared and staggered after her with slow, lumbering steps, befitting of a snow giant. Truth be told, he felt more like a zombie, but that didn't matter. In the Overland household, they didn't discriminate.

He followed her footprints through the snow. When he jumped around the corner of the house, he roared and waved his arms about… But there was no-one there to scare. Straightening, affronted, he glanced left and he glanced right.

Then he glanced down. The imprints left by little feet in the snow lead him on, and on and on until…

The little door, the little door that Jack had _explicitly forbidden _Emma to go down, was open. And it was there that her little footprints stopped.

"EMMA!" Jack fell on his knees so hard he jarred his spine, but he hardly felt it. He dared only poke his head down into the darkness, but his entire being was itching to launch himself down there after her. "EMMA!"

"I'm… I'm here…" She emerged, dazed and suddenly tired. Her clothes were wet from snow, but otherwise she had sustained no damage; all the same, Jack yanked her roughly out and slammed the door behind her.

"What were you _doing?_" he demanded. "I _told _you not to go down there!"

Emma struggled to collect her thoughts. "I- I know, I just-"

"You- what, thought I was _kidding? _Emma, you have no _idea _what's down there!"

"But you do!" Emma blurted. "Y- _you've _been down there, and you know what's down there and you won't _tell _me but you've been acting _weird _ever since-"

"All the more reason _not _to go down there!" Jack bellowed. Emma started to cry. Because of him. Again.

"I didn't _mean _to!" she sobbed. "I just- I was running, and then I saw the _door_ and I don't _remember _anything until I heard you and I just- I never, Jack, I never would have…"

Her words turned to angry buzzing in his ears. He felt cold wash over him, a tall dark shadow standing and smirking with his long grey fingers clasped together and his yellow eyes a-twinkle with malice.

It was only the second time. But it was two times too many.

"You must be damn well proud of yourself then," Jack snarled, swiveling slowly on his heels with murder in his eyes. Emma glanced up, confused.

Pitch grinned nastily. "The little things are the most satisfactory, don't you find?"

"I _find _that it's a lot more satisfactory when you _leave my little sister alone!_" he snapped, rising to his feet.

"J-Jack, what are you-" Emma whimpered.

"We had a deal." Jack jabbed his finger in Pitch's face venomously, but of course it didn't make a difference.

Pitch glanced around in confusion. "No, we didn't."

"Silent agreement! Whatever! You got me, you left Emma alone."

"I never agreed to that."

"You _did _and you _know _it. Don't lie to me, Pitch Black!"

"Who- who's Pitch Black?" Emma's voice rose with hysteria; Pitch's eyes flashed when they settled on her.

"No-one," Jack said firmly, refusing to look away from the Boogeyman. He would not lose ground on this, not now. "Go inside, get changed. Before you get a cold."

"But- but Jack, I don't-"

"_Go!_" she cringed at his tone, but Jack didn't have the time or the breath for apologies.

"This is your first and last warning," Jack snarled, one hand guiding Emma's back away from the scene. He could feel her trembling beneath his hand. "_Stay away from her._"

"And… If I don't?" Pitch wondered. "What are you going to do to me? Strobe lights?"

"I'll find something," Jack promised. "Jamie will figure something out."

"What, the wimpy little boy from your _snow day?_" Pitch snorted. "You're really not counting on _him _to help you… Not that it matters now, I suppose. You had quite the row this afternoon, didn't you?"

"That's nothing to do with you," Jack hissed, backing away and pretending he didn't have to acknowledge that Pitch was right.

Pitch's eyebrows lifted challengingly. "Isn't it?"

Finally, Jack returned his attention to Emma. She was terrified: tears flowed down her face and she glanced continuously between her brother and the fence… Roughly where Pitch was standing. Fear clutched Jack's heart like a cold hand- what if everything had been for nothing? What if, because he had been dumb enough to pick fights _right in front of her, _she could see Pitch now? But surely if she could, Pitch would know, and if he knew then he wouldn't hesitate to make sure Jack knew too…

"Come on, Emma," Jack said tersely, pulling her around more roughly than he meant to. "We're going inside."

"J-Jack, what's going-"

"I need to call Mom." _We need to get out of here._

"No!" Emma yanked away from him harshly; Jack whirled around. Emma's lip trembled but her eyes were firm. "You _can't _keep doing this! You _have _to tell me what's going on, I don't… I can't…"

Jack fought to keep his tone gentle. "Emma, I know this is crazy- believe me, I do. But there's so much going on right now, and everything… You have to understand, everything I do I do to protect you."

"From what?" Emma pleaded. "_Please, _Jack, please…"

She began sobbing again, and for the first time Jack didn't know how to stop the tears. He hovered over her uncertainly, suddenly feeling gawky and ungainly and completely unsure of himself. One hand trembled over her head, unsure if it wanted to pull her in for a hug or just stroke her hair and lie and tell her it would all be all right…

It happened before Jack could stop it. Like a grey arrow, Pitch's hand swept in from above and seized his wrist: with lightning movements, Jack watched in slow-motion horror as Pitch guided his hand and struck out… At Emma.

The blow landed with a crack that seemed surprisingly loud in the snow. Emma started back and her sobbing stopped immediately; Jack stared between his pale hand, and the red welt on her cheek, and then back at his hand in utter confusion. He had _never_… How could he have…

Emma's eyes were eerily calm. Instead she just watched Jack with a strange flatness, a deadness he had never seen in her before. Like… Like she had given up on him.

"Who _are _you?" she whispered.

Part of Jack wanted believe that she could see Pitch, and it was the Boogeyman she spoke to. But he knew, before the words had even come out of her mouth, that she was speaking to him. That she couldn't recognize him anymore, that he was so far removed from the brother she had once known and loved. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't know himself anymore either.

"I… Emma, I didn't… I don't…" He could only stare at his hands helplessly and gape at her as tears welled and her faith in him disappeared. Keeping her head low, she pushed past him, trudging heavily through the snow. Jack watched her go speechlessly; Pitch tutted pityingly.

"Dear me, dear me," he sighed. "Clumsy boy, clumsy hands."

Jack whirled around him, a dim fire awakening in his heart. "Don't," was all he could manage. Rage closed his throat and choked him. "Don't you _dare…_"

Pitch glanced pointedly at Emma, huddled quietly almost at the end of the narrow little alley down the side of their house. "Don't start rambling to yourself again, little boy," he warned. "Wouldn't want to scarethe little girl now, would we?"

Jack's hands tightened into fists. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"Oh, you know I would," Pitch grinned. "That's what this has been all about, isn't it?"

"_No, this _is about _you _being petty over _me _refusing you!" Jack snapped. "Well, hey- _newsflash! _Get over yourself, for Christ's sake! I'm not joining you. _Ever._"

"Not even if little Emma was at stake?" Pitch twirled a lazy finger, and black dust whirled up from his fingertip.

Jack scrambled to his feet and backed up towards Emma, who couldn't quite keep herself from turning back to watch with wide eyes. She was frozen in place. She didn't know how to run, not without Jack. "You can't touch her."

Pitch's eyebrows flicked up. "Are you really willing to test that, Jack?"

"Just leave her alone!" Jack shouted, wrought with desperation. "You've got me, you don't _need _her!"

"No," Pitch purred. "But _you _do."

He flicked the nightmare off his finger much as Sandra had once done, but Jack was already gone. He scooped Emma up under his arm, and she screamed again, but this time there were no giggles to follow. She beat her little fists against his back, but Jack did not stop. They ran down Bentham Street- fleeing from what, Jack wasn't entirely sure.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: GUYS GUYS I **_**DID **_**IT! I'm so sorry- I've been impossibly busy between schoolwork and we've just moved house, and I really really wanted this chapter to be perfect… After all this time I hope it is :/ At any rate, I wanted to thank you all so much for your ongoing support throughout this story, I honest-to-God couldn't do it without you guys. You're all wonderful, and I hope you enjoy the penultimate chapter (!) of **_**Walking Nightmares.**_

Emma was screaming and sobbing, struggling against Jack with all her might- and, for the first time, Jack didn't have any time for her. He didn't dare look back, but in his mind's eye he could see it: those yellow eyes, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for months, and a wicked grin flashing from the blackness as long, clawed hands reached for them…

"Jack, _stop!_" Emma shrieked. "You're scaring me, please- please don't, just let me go, _please…_"

"Don't say that," Jack muttered. "Don't be scared. We're… It's a game. Snow giants, remember?"

But his words fell on deaf ears, and Emma continued to wriggle until her jumper gathered up around her ears and she almost slipped out from under Jack's arm. The toes of her boots dragged across the icy gravel as Jack scrambled to pick her up again- and, as he did, he glanced behind.

Pitch was at the other end of the street, and as full of menace as Jack could ever have imagined. But what Jack never had anticipated was the small army of nightmare horses in his wake. Their eyes glowed and their hooves beat the gravel aggressively as they gained, and a spurt of terror drove Jack on. Pitch must have sensed the fear, because he laughed, and the sound rang across the snow so loudly Jack was convinced that everyone would hear.

Emma, on the other hand, was as blind and deaf as anyone, which was both a plus and a drawback- how could Jack subdue her and tell her what was happening without leaving her vulnerable to the Boogeyman's attacks?

_Well. Vulnerable-_er. Jack grimaced as he tried to think of a plan- he couldn't run forever. Tooth had said there was no definitive way to defeat the Boogeyman, but maybe there was some sort of fail safe… Salt on the window sills, or silver bullets… _No gun, idiot. _Unbidden, images of better days, of early morning bus rides, flashed past Jack's mind's eye. That had been when Jamie was obsessed with werewolves, not so long before the ghost thing swung around-

_Jamie. _Of course. If he could just get to Jamie's, everything would be alright. They hadn't parted on good terms, but Sophie and Emma were friends and Jamie liked her, he had no quarrel with Emma. Jamie would recognise the emergency, even if no-one else did. And he could look after Emma, if Jack could just distract Pitch long enough for Jamie to find a solution- he could call the Guardians, they would _have _to do something-

Jack skidded to a stop, spraying snow across the mouth of Jamie's street. His legs had carried him here practically on instinct- how many times had he wandered over, unannounced, on quiet Saturday mornings?- but, almost too late, he realized it was out of bounds. Jamie would take Emma in without question, and Jack had no doubt that Jamie would be able to find _some _way of delaying the Boogeyman's relentless pursuit. But what comfort was it to Emma if Jack abandoned her without any explanation? What if- God forbid- what if he died, and her last memory of him would be this insane and terrifying dash across Burgess? And Jack wasn't even considering the Bennet casualties involved. What if Pitch attacked Sophie? Or Jamie? Or both? It was too risky, he couldn't…

Almost slipping and falling on his face, Jack turned and sprinted the other way. Where could he go? His mind was tumbling desperately, he scarcely knew up from down. His nose was cold and his eyes were watering and Emma's growing panic only lent her strength to escape her manic older brother. Soon the world disappeared in a cold white blur, and all he could hear was Emma's shrieks and Pitch's laughter. Each one stabbed at his heart, a cold reminder of what he had done, what he was doing, what would happen to him if he couldn't do something, _something_…

His legs were aching. His lungs were screaming. How long could he do this? It didn't matter- he _had _to keep going, he had to save Emma… Had to save her…

Jack cried out suddenly, skidding around the corner. He had been running… He hadn't been thinking, but he _knew _this street. Soon enough it would cross another street, and that street would link arms with the main street and then they'd be in town, and they could go somewhere warm… Get a hot chocolate, talk things out… Pitch wouldn't _dare _attack them in a café…

_Would he? _Jack had no time for doubts: he barreled down the street- right, left- left, right- he needed to turn around, he needed to see if he was safe- but his neck was stiff and cold and he was scared, scared of what he would see- but he couldn't be afraid. To be afraid was to- to what? To die? He didn't think so, but he _had _to look-

So he did.

He turned, and it was even worse than before. The nightmare horses came, and Pitch herded them on with his grin and his wickedness, and as he lifted his arms- as if to hug the entire world- a huge black wave rose up behind them. Speechless with terror, Jack backpedalled madly, but he needn't have feared. The wave wasn't meant to them.

It came crashing down in a terrifying silence, glittering blackly like crushed diamonds, and, like a real wave at the beach, sloshed wildly across the street and up- blocking off the main street, cutting off his escape route, and only then did it start gathering power again, and this time Jack had no doubt who its target was.

Dimly, Jack wondered if the innocent bystanders scattered about the shops had been affected at all by the assault. If they had, it wasn't his problem. Emma shrieked and sobbed as Jack wheeled violently, taking off down the opposite way as Pitch's army rounded the corner. They were gaining. Would the nightmare hooves still trample them if they got caught up underneath? What would that even look like, to all the people who didn't believe, who couldn't see?

_Why do I care? _They wouldn't catch them. They wouldn't be trampled- Jack wouldn't let them. His legs carried him on auto-pilot as his mind scrambled, desperately trying to think of something, _anything _that could save them.

"Jack!" Emma sobbed. "Jack, I don't like this game- please, just let me _go_-"

"No!" Jack barked, harsher than he'd meant to. Suddenly he felt tears rise up in him and constrict his throat, and it was all he could do to keep them down. Emma couldn't see him crying. She _couldn't. _"Emma, please… I don't want to hurt you, I'm trying to keep you safe-"

"Safe from what?_" Emma's crying too. _"You're the only thing I'm scared of, Jack! Please, just let me _go!"_

She gave a defiant wriggle, and this time she did slip away. Jack tried to pull her back- tripped- fell- slid-

_Slid? _He rolled onto his side and saw his warped blue reflection staring back. He look awful. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were wild and his face was pinched and cold.

Completely disarmed, Jack looked around in confusion. Where-? How-? _Oh. _In his panic he had run straight to his safe place- to his lake, hidden from view by the thick pine trees and the snow that coated their branches and the shadows that seeped in between the trunks…

Jack sat in the middle of the lake. _On, _rather. It was frozen over solid, but even so when he rose he was wary. Emma had fallen some ten feet away from the edge, but she was further still away from Jack and completely paralysed with terror. She stared at the icy spiderweb cracks under her feet with big eyes, unable to look away.

"Jack," she whimpered, but she didn't make any move towards him. _What is she more afraid of? The ice? Or me?_

Jack didn't want to know.

"I'm here," he said reassuringly. He bent his knees, so they were almost the same height; stretched out his hands as if to hold her, if only she were closer; tried to catch her eye, if only she would look up. "It's OK, I'm here. We were gonna go ice skating, remember? This is our practice run. OK? But you have to come here… I have to show you…"

His mouth, and all the sweet words in it, dried up when Pitch appeared on the snow. His army was gone, but shadows still gathered around his ankles, twitching with his fingers, roiling at the ground where he touched. He took in the scene carefully, then inhaled deeply through his sharp nose and laughed.

_Fear. That's all he knows is fear, he was never my friend, he knows no mercy. Just fear._

"It's over, Jack," he called across the frozen water. "You have nowhere left to run to. No-one is going to save you now."

"It's OK," Jack said again, louder, focusing on Emma. There was nothing in the world but them now. She was the only thing that mattered- that had ever mattered. "You're safe now, I gotcha."

"Jack," she whimpered again. "I'm scared."

"I know you are," he murmured. "But you have to be brave."

Pitch laughed, but it was a quiet sound, a soft chuckle as if he had an inside joke with himself. "Bravery? You are a kind liar, Jack. Where is _your _bravery?"

A shadow whipped out and curled around Emma before snapping back, so fast Jack couldn't be sure if it had even touched her. Even so, it was enough to make his heart race.

"You coddled her too much, Jack." Another shadowy spear, and Jack struggled to find sweet words to bring Emma out of the dark. But all he could see was Pitch, and all Emma could see was the cracking ice under her boots. "She can't do anything without you." They came quicker now, more vicious, darting in and out around Emma, but never grabbing her. Never hurting her. Jack was thankful for small mercies. "Can't move. Can't speak. Can't even save herself, let alone be _brave_."

"I'm scared too," Jack blurted, and Pitch snorted triumphantly behind Emma's back. "But, but it's OK. Because… because…"

Jack's mind was a complete blank, and Emma's faith in him was waning. Even from where he stood, Jack could see Pitch feeding off the fear that radiated from the Overland siblings, growing longer, thinner, more terrifying by the moment. Still his shadows pursued Emma, and each attack seemed more vicious than the last.

"Because nothing," Pitch smiled knowingly. "All you know to do is protect Emma, and now you can scarcely manage that. What does that leave for you?"

Jack wanted to answer. He wanted to say something clever, something defiant, and he wanted to swoop in and save Emma and make everything OK again. But his arms were cold and heavy with fear, and he had nothing left in him. He was empty, he was _nothing_.

Pitch sighed daintily. "I tried to help you," he reminded Jack. "I told you, we could have been great together."

"_No._" Jack's voice was sharp, and he fought to keep it under control. He couldn't let Emma get any more afraid than she already was. "I don't need… I need _you, _Emma. I know I've been horrible. I'm sorry for the running and the hiding and shouting, but it's just because I'm scared. And, and fear does bad things to people."

The shadows had stopped moving completely. Even Jack wasn't entirely sure who he was speaking to now, but he certainly had the Boogeyman's attention.

"But that doesn't make me a bad person," Jack murmured. "And I need you to be brave now. Don't be scared, I'm right here. I'm always here, Emma. I'm going to catch you, I _promise_."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Jack," Pitch snarled, and now the shadows spears shot straight at Emma's tiny back, but not a one of them hit. They couldn't touch her, for whatever reason. Jack didn't care. As long as she was OK, even if only for a little while. "I did the same, and look where that got me."

"I'm sorry," Jack murmured, for Pitch's ears only. "But that's not my problem."

He forced his eyes up, and stared the Boogeyman straight in his acid eyes. "_We're not your daughter," _he whispered.

Pitch stared for a long moment, and Jack almost hoped that it was all over, that he was free… Then his dark face twisted into a horrible, horrible snarl, and the forest around them exploded with shadows. The ice under Emma's feet cracked violently and she screamed, ducking lower to the ground but still too afraid to move. Jack forced himself to stay calm and locked his eyes on her.

"It's okay." He wondered who he was speaking to now: his sister, or just himself. "It's okay. Don't look down, just look at me."

Finally, for the first time in what felt like a millennia, Emma lifted her eyes and looked at her big brother. He fixed her gaze, held it, and nothing mattered now. They were going to be OK, he _knew _it. It was all going to be OK.

"We're ice skating, remember?" he said softly. "I was gonna teach you. It'll be fun."

"No!" Emma sobbed. "I don't _like _this game, Jack, I want to go home!"

"I'm right here," he murmured. "I'll take you home, I promise. Would I trick you?"

"Yes! You _always _play tricks!"

Jack smiled, fleetingly. Pitch was yelling at him, somewhere, but his words were distant. "Not this time."

Emma wobbled on her feet as the ice crackled softly, and her gaze jerked down. Jack inched forward, arms outstretched.

"You're gonna be fine," he promised again, but his heart wasn't in it. The cracks were spreading, and not even he could take his eyes off them.

Emma looked up again, her eyes big and scared and imploring.

"You have to believe in me."

And that was all it took. The shadows around her shrank, and Emma seemed to relax, and Jack knew not all hope was lost. In spite of all her terror, she still believed in him. She always would, and the knowledge banished all fear from Jack's mind and impossible warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his numb fingers.

"We'll play a game," he said, emboldened by Emma's tentative confidence. "Hopscotch, you like that game. It's as easy as one…"

Jack hopped, his long legs carrying him across the ice where he landed lightly… And closer to Emma. A smile began to creep across her face, and the darkness around them receded a little more.

"Two…" Jack sprang again, making a show of flailing and wobbling on the slick surface on the ice. It worked: Emma laughed, and Jack dared to glance at the snowy bank of the river. Pitch's hands were curled into fists and a whole range of conflicting emotions danced across his face, but Jack didn't have any time to analyse them. They were winning. It was going to be OK.

"Three." Jack danced as close to Emma as he dared: he was heavier than she was, and didn't much fancy trying out the thinner ice for himself. Keeping his eyes on her- smiling to encourage her own shy little smile- he reached blindly for a crooked branch sprawled across the ice, holding it out towards Emma like a lifeline.

"Your turn," he said softly, eyes locked on her.

"Give up!" Pitch roared. "You cannot get away from me! All your sweet words, your _bravery_- it means _nothing! _There will always be fear, and I will always be here! _There is nowhere for you to hide!"_

"One," Jack muttered under his breath, doing his level best to ignore the seething Boogeyman. Emma took a wobbly, nervous step forward, chewing her lip anxiously. Jack held the branch out as far as he dared.

"Hop, skip, jump- I don't _care! _How dare you presume to be _brave - _you've lived your entire _life _in fear. Don't think that some childish game is going to stop me, Jackson Overland."

"Two." Jack spoke through gritted teeth as Pitch ranted and Emma wobbled, but he only had eyes for one of them. Ice cracked and creaked under her uncertain, shuffling steps, and Emma cried out-

"Three!" Jack lunged with the branch and managed to loop it around Emma's back, flinging her towards him as he, himself, slid the other way. He skidded on his back towards the bank, towards Pitch, but that was OK. He knew how to deal with the Boogeyman. Emma was safe now.

His face was flushed with victory when he sat up, and Pitch had stopped in his mindless ranting to glower at the boy at his feet.

"What terrifies you more," Pitch snarled. "Losing her? Or losing yourself?"

Jack raised his eyebrows and gave Pitch a look. "Surely you'd know the answer to that yourself."

He stood, unfolding his long legs carefully, and brushed himself off. Pitch still stood taller than him, but Jack liked to think he was shrinking.

"I don't care," Jack said simply. "I will always be scared of something, but I will _never _stop fighting you. For myself, for me- for anyone. You know… _Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light._"

Jack loped towards Emma with that, giving Pitch a cocky grin over his shoulder. "And that's Harry Potter right there. Tell _that _to your nightmares."

"This isn't over," Pitch snarled.

"No," Jack agreed, "It's not."

And then he turned away, and stepped to a bewildered Emma, and-

"_JACK!"_

And the ice gave way beneath him.

There were screams all around, but Jack barely had time to draw breath and then he was gone. It was cold, so bitterly cold- it hit him like a slap to the face, and his lungs emptied in a rush and he felt impossibly icy water flood his lungs, sting his eyes-

His vision was fuzzy and the pond was dark, but he could see the surface. He could see- oh, God, he could see- the shadows swept in all at once, and where Emma had been there was now only a swirling mass of utter darkness. Worse still, he could _hear: _she screamed his name, she sobbed, her fists hammered the ice. _Don't do that, it'll crack… You can't fall in too…_

Jack fought to move, but his blood seemed to have frozen in his veins. Everything _hurt_, a cold, dull ache, and the more he strained to kick his legs or wave his arms the worse his head throbbed. His lungs burned, his clothes dragged him down…

_I'm going to die here. _It came to him with a terrible certainty, but there was no surprise accompanying the thought. What else was he going to do, sprout wings and fly into the sunset? There was nothing here for him but weeds and cold, cold, cold…

Darkness nibbled at the edge of his vision and he blacked out once or twice, but he fought to stay awake. Emma was beyond his help now, but someone… Someone would help her, he had to make sure… That was his job, he looked after her…

It could have been a dying illusion, but as reality flickered in and out Jack could have sworn the shadows around Emma evaporated. He couldn't hear her anymore… The world had gone eerily silent… But even as his vision blurred and his eyes stung and the weeds and the shadows claimed him as their own, he could see Pitch standing over her.

_Get away from her, _Jack thought weakly. What was he doing? Threatening her? If he dared lay a finger on her… Jack would find a way to haunt him, he _would…_

As the last whispers of life stole away from Jack's body, he gathered up all his fear, all his panic, all his regrets, and formed them into big loud words directed at the blurry, fading shadows above him. He could still… He could still save her, if he just…

_You… owe me, Boogeyman._

And then everything was gone, and Jackson Overland died before he got to see if his last ditch attempt to save his little sister had worked.


	26. Epilogue

**A/N: OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE YOU GUYS ARE EXPECTING SOMETHING REALLY BIG AND SPECIAL I'M SORRY IT'S JUST AN EPILOGUE I'M SO SORRY **weeps****

Jackson Overland of 13 Bentham Street, Burgess, died at eighteen years old on the seventh of November when he tragically drowned in a frozen lake. The only witness was his eight year old sister, Emma, who was found by police three hours later when her mother returned home to an empty house. It had taken three men to pull Emma away from the hole in the lake, and a further week before she was able to speak.

Immediately after the funeral, the remaining Overlands fled Burgess, never to be heard from again. Throughout her childhood and well into adolescence, Emma suffered from traumatic nightmares, diagnosed with acute depression with its roots in her brother's accidental death. At night, she was plagued by horrific replays of Jack's last day, only now they were pursued by dark shadows with evil eyes, and she would always wake up screaming as Jack fell and the shadows fell upon her.

Jamie Bennet, Jack's only friend and confidant in Burgess, was furious at the news of Jack's death. Mere days after the Overlands departure from Bentham Street, he snuck down into the dark cavern beneath the house and stayed down there for hours. But no matter how loud he screamed, or how hard he cried, no Boogeyman appeared to confront him, and so his questions went unanswered. For weeks he stayed up in a rocking chair, waiting, hoping for any signs of the Guardians. Whether he wanted to plead or talk or shout at them, Jamie was never sure; but one way or another, he would always fall asleep, and wake with little more than a vague dream of love and loss to see him through.

He never stopped believing.

The lake had long since frozen over again when the Man in the Moon pulled Jack forth from his icy grave, but he was no longer Jack Overland. Remembering nothing of his past, Jack Frost attended to his seasonal duties for years, but no matter where he wandered he could not shake the feeling that there was something waiting for him in Burgess, and so there he stayed waiting for he didn't know what.

It would be many years before Jack finally recovered his memories, but when he did he set out after the Boogeyman with a vengeance.

**A/N: And that's it, guys. I may or may not write a sequel, but you know how I am with these things… Either way, once I again I want to thank you all so much for your lovely words and your ongoing support throughout this story, even though I'm not particularly generous with my updates. Words honestly cannot express my gratitude, and how happy it makes me when I get these e-mails from you guys. Thank you, thank you, **_**thank you **_**for reading **_**Walking Nightmares, **_**you're the most wonderful readers I could ever have hoped for and that's more than I could ever have imagined when I set out on this, so just… **_**Thank you. **_


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